An Unholy Alliance
by gleefulmusings
Summary: Santana Lopez quite enjoys her newfound status as princess of McKinley High and wants to make sure it remains the status quo. She well knows that every princess needs a fairy godmother. Luckily, she knows just the right fairy for the job.
1. An Indecent Proposal

**Author's Note**: This story is paced incredibly slowly. There are multiple chapters which cover the passing of mere hours. There is also a multiple POV and, while it might be narrated in the third person, that doesn't necessarily mean that the narrator is omniscient. So, please, always remember that when the characters are discussing other characters, either in conversation or introspection, they are merely expressing their own opinions based on the knowledge they posses, which isn't necessarily right or fair. I've been accused of character bashing, specifically Puck and Rachel, but in canon at this point in time, none of the main characters has much use for them. This story requires a considerable amount of patience on the part of the reader, but I'm taking it slowly so as to build a distinct, yet familiar, universe.

* * *

Kurt Hummel was so busy giving his collection of various hair products a vigorous dusting – and absolutely _not_ thinking about Finn Hudson in a shimmery blue Speedo – that he almost missed the sound of his doorbell announcing a visitor.

Odd, he thought, frowning, as he heard his father's heavy footfalls from above. Mercedes never rang the bell. She preferred to herald her arrival with several loud knocks in tribute to a Chaka Khan number.

He smiled softly, pleased for her company. Thank goodness they were over that ridiculous crush nonsense. Really, the girl should have known without him having to tell her.

Still, he couldn't deny that he had been flattered, and, were he not hopelessly devoted to the penis and all of its magnificence, Mercedes was the type of girl he would pursue. She was smart, funny, sassy, could sing rings around everyone – except perhaps the tragic horror that was Rachel Berry – and had curves in all the right places.

He pursed his lips and shook his head. Honestly, he had no idea why any straight man in his right mind would prefer a walking corpse over a girl with such an amazing backside. Plebeians.

Spirits brightened at the thought of not having to spend another Friday night alone, Kurt quietly hummed some Kylie Minogue as he scrambled to clean up his room. Not that it was messy ___per se_, because of course it never was, but he had gotten so caught up in Product Maintenance that he had neglected some stray articles which immediately required being relegated to their proper places.

He frowned as the sound of murmuring drifted down the stairs. Sure, his father and Mercedes got along famously, but they didn't indulge in too much conversation when Kurt himself was not present. Raising a brow, he shrugged and closed the doors to his closet with a flourish before looking around his room. Deeming it satisfactory, he had just enough time for a quick mirror check before Mercedes made her entrance. His hair was predictably flawless and he momentarily debated a light bronzer application, but then thought better of it.

"Why paint the peacock?"

He smirked at his reflection and adjusted his collar.

"Kurt!" Burt yelled down the stairs. "There's some girl here for you."

At this, Kurt raised both brows. Obviously not Mercedes, if the note of derision in his father's voice was any indication.

Who could it be? A mystery!

He then deflated. Most likely Brittany had gotten confused ___again_ and showed up at his house, believing it was her own and not understanding why her key didn't fit the lock. Smiling slightly and shaking his head, he walked to the foot of the stairs.

"Just send Brittany down, Dad. Please and thank you!"

He turned for one final check and frowned as he noticed a speck of _something_ on his immaculate carpet. Huffing with annoyance, he raced to bend over and remove its offensive presence.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, he absently said, "Watch out for the last step, Brittany. I won't have scuff marks on my floor again."

"It's not Brittany, bitch."

* * *

Kurt froze. Oh _lord_.

"Nice ass."

This wasn't happening. This simply was not happening. He closed his eyes, breathed through his nose, and slowly pulled himself into an erect position. He just as slowly spun on his heel to face the interloper who had dared to besmirch the inviolate sanctuary of his domain.

Santana stood there, hip cocked, arms crossed, brow raised, smirk ready.

Kurt raised a brow in reply.

Thus commenced a silent battle of indomitable wills.

They stood and glared, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Each understood the benefits of silence: how it could be wielded to unseat an opponent, of the anxiety and fear it incited. Kurt was not about to cede any victory to this alleged person, however. She had invaded his territory, and it was therefore her responsibility to declare herself and state her intentions.

Santana knew this, had strategically planned for it. She knew she would have to play this very carefully. Kurt Hummel owed her nothing and she had nothing on him, otherwise she would simply blackmail him into acceding to her demands.

Alas.

As it were, she would have to appeal to his vanity, which she assumed would not be terribly taxing. Besides, if this admittedly brilliant plan was to succeed, she would have to make first contact, and the potential for triumph far outweighed any slight discomfort she might experience in asking for his assistance.

She took a step forward. "I have a proposition for you."

* * *

His look of abject horror amused her. "Calm down, Mary," she snorted. "We both know you're as gay as a picnic basket, so there is no danger of your virtue being compromised."

He huffed and waited for her to continue.

She slowly circled the waters, silently admitting that the boy had elegant taste. While the situation was not ideal, she would not be averse to spending time in this room. Excellent. Her nefarious plan was well-plotted indeed.

"May I be frank?"

"I would prefer it. Of course, when have you ever been anything but?" he asked archly.

She smirked. "Touché." She then nodded. "All right, then, allow me to lay all my cards on the proverbial table. We are both intelligent, talented, rich, and highly attractive people with an unerring sense of fashion." She then fell silent.

"Agreed," he said grudgingly, his tone hesitant.

"Therefore," she continued, "it behooves us to form an alliance."

He pulled his head back. "You have my attention." His eyes narrowed. "For the moment," he then qualified.

She tilted her head. He had provided an opening, albeit a guarded one. She had expected more resistance. This required a subtle shift in execution. Her only hope now was complete and total honesty.

"I believe we each have something the other wants. Now that Quinn has been knocked down by getting knocked up, I am her _de facto_ successor. I've ascended the throne and plan to stay there indefinitely. In order for this to be actualized, I require someone whose self-interest is closely aligned with my own."

"Your logic is sound," he allowed.

She nodded. "Which is where you come in. I don't know you well. What I do know, I can't say I like, because my judgment of you is not yet complete. However, what I _have_ seen, I respect."

His eyes narrowed.

"This is not an attempt at flattery, false or otherwise," she insisted. "I don't believe in furthering the delusions of inferiors."

He involuntarily raised a corner of his mouth.

"Good," she nodded. "You're strong, you have guts. You have a mouth you're not afraid to use. You're as attractive as me, but in a way that doesn't threaten me. Most importantly, you know who you are and don't apologize for it." She paused. "I find that very refreshing. I won't have to coddle you. You can take care of yourself; I know this. What I'm offering is the opportunity to join forces and pool our resources." She put up a hand. "Know in advance that I'm not looking for a fellow monarch," she cautioned, "but a regent. I will rule, with you at my side."

He crossed his arms. "And what, if any, benefit do I derive from this unholy union?"

She beamed. "You asked that at _just_ the right time," she noted with pleasure. Her face became stony. "I know what the jocks do to you. I can stop it."

"And if you have this power, why didn't you use it before?" he immediately countered.

She shrugged. "Because I didn't care."

It was a better, and more honest, answer than he had expected. Still, he had reservations. "Is that it?"

"No. If you ally with me, I will stop the harassment. I will guarantee you will no longer have to deal with Puck. There will be no more slushy facials. And," she added, stepping closer, "you will no longer be alone in your hatred for Rachel Berry."

He turned and swiftly began pacing, tenting his fingers together and debating her offer.

It was a good one, he knew, and it bore consideration.

Santana Lopez was not only popular, she was a complete bitch. On a personal level, this greatly appealed to him. Kindred spirits were rare, especially evil ones. Further, this new merger had the potential to promote a delicious amount of scandal, which was simply divine. He stopped and turned back to face her, pleased to note that she was placidly awaiting his reply. Excellent poker face.

"Before I agree to anything, I have concerns which must be addressed."

She nodded. "Fair enough."

He nodded in concert. "The primary obstacle I foresee is the very simple truth that we don't trust each other. In any other circumstance, I would propose sharing confidences over spa treatments, followed by visual and verbal defilement of college guys at the mall."

Her eyes lighted.

"But that won't work in this situation. I have no secrets left to tell. You know of my penchant for corsets, that I'm gay, that my mother is dead, and that I have a completely inappropriate crush on Finn Hudson. Everyone knows these things." His brow furrowed. "With the exception of Finn, of course." He sighed. "Thoughts?"

"Hmm," she said noncommittally. "Your assessment is, unfortunately, accurate. And were I to tell you my deepest secrets, I have no guarantee you wouldn't use them against me to further your own agenda." She eyed him. "Although I don't believe you would."

He shrugged. "I wouldn't, but not out of any commitment to you. I just don't operate that way."

"More's the pity."

He smirked. "Laying aside this troublesome caveat, the question of Mercedes remains. I absolutely will not abandon her, nor will I tolerate her denigration at anyone's hand. If I am to be at your side, she will be right there with me, and whatever protection you grant me will also be extended to her."

She had anticipated this and was untroubled. If anything, she was delighted. Loyalty was a trait she admired, even if it wasn't one she herself practiced with any regularity. "Not a problem. The girl is, in a word, fierce."

He raised a brow. "And I assume Brittany will be the fourth addition to this interesting paradigm?"

"Naturally," she nodded. "Is that a problem for you?" She cursed the note of annoyance which crept into her tone. Whining was so gauche. She was startled when his face softened.

"Not at all," he said quietly. "I find myself quite fond of the girl." He frowned. "And what of your relationship," he continued, using air quotes, "with Noah Puckerman?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "He's a sexy beast, but I'm addicted to power, not brawn. His reputation has taken a severe blow because of his own stupidity, and I'm no one's sloppy seconds. It's time to expand my horizons."

"And where does Quinn fit into all of this?" he whispered, averting his eyes.

Santana unwillingly bit her lip, and then gasped as insight crashed into her. "You like her."

His eyes flared. "Irrelevant."

She shook her head. "Oh, no, no. This is completely relevant." She hesitated, and then dove in. "With regard to the issue of trust," she said, clearing her throat, "would it be ameliorating were I to admit that I like her as well?"

He pursed his lips. "It might," he acknowledged. He cocked a hip. "You first."

"Fine," she sighed. "She's getting a raw deal. She's being made out to be the football team's trampoline, and that's not fair. She slept with Puck. I don't like it, but it happened, and it only happened once. Alcohol was a factor, though it's not an excuse. She brought me in and raised me up. I don't like what's happening to her."

"She was my best friend for ten years."

She cocked her head. "Excuse me?"

He gave her a bland look.

"What happened?"

He shrugged. "Middle school politics. I was a liability."

She winced. "Not that I'm not guilty of the same thing, but yeah, that wasn't cool of her."

Another shrug. "It is what it is." He shuffled his feet restlessly. "Did Finn throw her out?"

She exhaled and nodded. "She's staying with Puck, which is not a good situation for any involved."

He chewed on that for a moment. "I might have a solution, but it will require her to pay reparations to me. If you can facilitate this, I will sign on to this endeavor."

"Done."

His eyes hooded. "And, finally, the ultimate end to your scheme? Control of the class? Of Glee Club?"

She shook her head. "Nothing so banal." She grinned viciously and leaned toward him. "We're going to take over the school, of course," she purred.

A slow smile spread across his face. "Your terms are acceptable."


	2. Have A Little Faith

Kurt had left the room to speak with his father and see about dinner, having invited Santana to pass the meal with them.

She instead invited herself for the weekend, which resulted in highly raised eyebrows and considerable contemplation.

Finally allowing that perhaps it was a good idea, if only to cement further their plans for world domination, Kurt capitulated and promised to discuss the matter with the proper authority figure.

Santana wasn't too worried; from her earlier encounter with Mr. Hummel, she had gleaned there was little the man wouldn't do for his son and, while she would never admit it, she was pleased to see that Kurt had someone so resolutely in his corner. Everyone deserved that, she figured. Well, maybe not Puck. Or Rachel.

All in all, she was growing fonder of this scheme with every passing moment. In fact, she now thought herself foolish for not approaching Kurt sooner. After all, it only made sense that the school's most fabulous girl and most fabulous gay join forces.

She had already determined how best to deal with his tormentors, and she was looking forward to it. It would be so easy, and would result in her vast amusement. She wasn't going to settle for idle threats, however; intimidation and gross humiliation were definitely in order.

She pulled a face. Throwing people in dumpsters? How juvenile, how pathetic. And, she silently added, as she opened his closet doors and perused his discriminating selection, she could not in good conscience allow so many delicious garments to be subjected to such crass idiocy.

Nodding to herself, she left the closet and crossed over to his music collection. It was impressive, to say the least, and she was mollified that they had many of the same titles in common. Excellent. If other avenues of discussion failed, they could fall back on music. Thankfully, his tastes were not limited to musical theater alone. That genre had never been her stock and trade, though she would concede there were some shows she quite enjoyed.

Still, she frankly resented Rachel and Schuester's obsessive need to shove ___Broadway's Greatest Hits_ down the throats of the other club members. She had silently agreed with Mercedes; what was wrong with adding a little flavor to the mix?

She frowned, leaned in, and withdrew a CD before walking over the awesome sound system and inserting her selection. As the music tinkled out, she grinned.

"Ah," Kurt said, smiling, "old school Madonna. Very nice. At least your taste isn't in question."

She sniffed. "Oh, it never was. I assume you have spoken with your father?"

"You can stay," he said hesitantly, partly in disbelief that his father had acquiesced to his request. "Dinner's in an hour. Chinese."

She turned and gave him a wolfish smile, pleased when he blanched and automatically took a step away from her. "And I'm _so_ glad your bed can sleep two with no problem."

His eyes widened. "You'll be sleeping upstairs! In one of the _guest_ rooms!"

She made her eyes very large and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "You mean I can't sleep with you?" she sniffled, her pout very much Brittany-esque. "But why not, Kurty?"

He held out his thumb. "One, never again address me by such a ridiculous nickname." He raised his index finger. "Two, you will never share my bed as long as I'm alive." He dropped both fingers and held aloft the middle one. "And three."

She snorted.

He stared at her briefly. "You are not unintelligent. It would not be impossible for me to like you."

It touched her, more than it should have. She had Brittany and he had Mercedes, but it was obvious to both of them that they were lonely. However, as she was currently not interested in sharing a Moment, she opted for diversion. "Did you call Mercedes?"

"I did," he nodded. "She's on her way over. I didn't tell her why, because, frankly, I doubt she would have believed me."

"It is pretty unbelievable," she agreed.

"Brittany and Quinn?"

"En route, though Quinn is in the dark as to why." She frowned. "And so am I. When exactly will you be sharing your solution to her problem?"

He demurred and threw up his hands. "Honestly, do you really believe this can work?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "I think it will take a lot of planning and some compromise, but yes, and I think it will be worth it." She gestured to his sofa, and they both sat down. "Look, Kurt, you've been hurt terribly, and you have no reason to like me, let alone trust me. I admit this. I know you're taking a chance here, but please realize that it was incredibly difficult for me to come here and broach this subject with you."

He nodded and took a deep breath. "And?"

She smiled. "_And_, whatever happens, even if this doesn't work out the way we intend, I don't see why we can't be friends, at least in glee club. You have an amazing voice, and while I don't have your ability…"

"I believe you're quite good," he said, softly interrupting.

She blinked. She might not know him well, but knew enough to know he didn't dole out musical praise unless it was warranted. So, yeah, okay, that he thought she was good meant something to her.

"Thank you," she replied, more stiffly than was her intent. "I think we can both agree that neither of us wants Glee to turn into the _Rachel Berry Variety Hour_."

He snorted.

"So, if for whatever reason things don't go according to plan, I'll have your back in Glee, so long as I can expect the same."

He nodded. "That's fair." He paused. "You really meant what you said at Sectionals, didn't you? That Glee is the best part of your day?"

She understood this was a test. Whatever he was willing to concede with regard to their new relationship, he was making it plain that if glee club was in any way compromised, he would be very unhappy, and would make sure she was, as well. "I never say anything I don't mean."

"Well, that's how I feel too. It's the one safe space for me in that school, where what I am doesn't matter so much as what I can do." He frowned and clasped his hands together, staring down at them. "Which is why I'm so endlessly frustrated with Rachel. She's a star and she knows it, and that's fine, but she's not the only one in our group. Brittany and Mike are easily the best dancers in the school. Mercedes is in a league of her own. I prefer Quinn and Tina's styles over Rachel's, but that's merely a personal peccadillo. We'd be lost without Artie, and we haven't even begun to discover Matt's abilities."

She wondered why she had ever underestimated him. It was apparent that Kurt had been paying far more attention to the dynamic of the group than that for which he was given credit. He was arrogant, but he had talent and therefore reason. Still, unlike Rachel, he hadn't allowed arrogance to cloud his judgments of the others. He saw clearly what they could become, and she far preferred his version over Rachel's plan to turn the club into her collection of personal session singers.

She wondered what would happen were a situation to arise which would pit Kurt against Rachel over the good of the club, and promptly decided to engineer such a spectacle. It was sure to be entertaining, and not only because Rachel would be handed her ass.

"We all contribute in our own way," he continued, "and I am mortally offended by how easily Rachel dismisses us as her minions."

She heard the barely-concealed vitriol in his words.

"Look," she said, "the reality is that Rachel is a self-absorbed bitch. I won't judge her for that, because the same holds true for me. However, for what it's worth, I totally agree with you. As often as she disses the Cheerios, she really doesn't understand what we're about. She doesn't know how to work with others as a cohesive unit, and it will be her undoing. It's only a matter of time before she alienates everyone in the group, and their devotion to glee club will only stretch so far before it's outpaced by their resentment of her."

He smirked. "Which is why it would be an excellent idea to present an alternative option for leadership."

"Why, Kurt," she cooed, fluttering her lashes, "it's as if you read my mind."

They threw back their heads and cackled.

* * *

Kurt heard the familiar rapping of Mercedes' knuckles pounding out _Papillon_. He smiled and shook his head, crossing the foyer to the door and flinging it open.

"Hey," he beamed. "Glad you could make it."

He moved aside to allow her entrance.

She snorted. "Please. Like there's anything else going on in this one-McDonald's town?" she huffed. "Besides," she grinned, grabbing his hand, "I'm always available for my best boy." She crossed the threshold. "So, obligatory outfit check."

She spun in a circle.

"Fabulous as always." He raised a brow. "Except for the socks."

She rolled her eyes. "Bitch, please. These socks are _fierce_."

"Fiercely fug."

"Go fug yourself."

He heaved a dramatic sigh. "The story of my _life_."

She laughed uproariously and turned to allow him to remove her coat.

Santana stood just inside the kitchen, watching closely. She smirked. Time for some fun.

She slinked over toward the twosome, both of whom missed her approach as Kurt took the other girl's coat and hung it in the side closet. She wrapped her arms around Kurt's waist, pausing to note that it was the envy of half the girls she knew, pleased when he released a loud, if adorable, squeak.

Mercedes laughed. "What happened? Your thong ride up again?"

"You wear thongs, Kurty?" Santana purred. "You naughty, _naughty_ boy." She placed a soft kiss behind his ear, amused by his resulting shiver.

Mercedes turned on her heel and her eyes all but popped from their sockets. "Now what the hell is _this_?" she demanded. "Kurt?"

He felt the blush creep up his neck and silently cursed Santana. "Well," he began, "this is what I wanted to talk to you about."

A brief look of hurt crossed her face before she raised her brows and crossed her arms. "So start talking. _Now_."

"I've lured sweet Kurt to the Dark Side," Santana grinned, tickling his ribs.

He giggled reflexively before angrily swatting her away. She laughed.

"The Dark Side," Mercedes slowly repeated. "Are we talking about The Force?"

Kurt made a cluck of disapproval and threw Santana off of him. "Oh, _honestly_. Mercedes, get crucial. The idea of Santana and I as anything other than fabulously-dressed partners in crime is pure folly."

Mercedes' relief was palpable – it was perfectly fine that she would never have Kurt, as long as no other woman could have him – and then her brow furrowed. "Crime? There's crime now?"

Santana smiled. "There's going to be."

Kurt nodded. "And we want you in on it, of course."

Mercedes eyed Santana warily. "I can't _wait_ to hear this. And it better be good."

"Oh, trust me," Kurt sighed dreamily, taking her arm in his, "it is."

* * *

Mercedes listened carefully as Kurt and Santana outlined the preposterous premise of their new partnership.

She attempted to give a damn but, in the end, the damn was not given.

This had to be the most ridiculous thing she had ever had the privilege to hear. It would have been hysterical were it not so pathetic. It was her duty as Kurt's very best hag to explain the flaws in his logic.

"First of all," she began, "you're both just assuming that everyone is going to be okay with this." She raised a brow. "What makes either of you think that people are just going to be lining up to be your bitch?"

"Simple," Santana sniffed. "This is high school, Mercedes, comprised of various packs of snarling wolves. Every pack has a clearly-defined leader; they can't operate without one, or chaos will descend. Whether or not you want to believe or admit it, there is a very definite pecking order at play here. I'm already an established alpha. By aligning yourselves with me, both you and Kurt will become alphas in your own right."

"You're an alpha by default," Mercedes charged. "If Quinn hadn't gotten pregnant, we wouldn't even be sitting here discussing this."

"If you believe that, you're a fool."

"Watch your mouth, girl, or I _will_ break my foot off in your narrow ass."

Santana sighed. "No offense, Mercedes, but you really don't know me, nor do you have any idea just how much power I wield, because we travel in separate circles. Quinn might have been top dog in the Cheerios because she was Sylvester's golden girl, but that's not the only clique of which I'm a member."

Mercedes frowned. "Go on," her tone icy yet curious.

"You're not the only minority in glee club. I have significant pull in the Latino community of the school, small as it is." She cocked her head. "Just as, I imagine, you have within the black community, and Mike and Tina have among the Asians. These are reserves which don't wane simply because we don't spend every waking moment together. We may not be the most important members of those communities, but we can draw strength from them if necessary. If anyone challenges me, and make no mistake, it would be a white person, the Latinos have my back, and the African-Americans would have yours."

"Nix on the PC terms," Kurt hissed.

Santana frowned.

"I'm no damned African-American," Mercedes spat. "What kind of bullshit term is that, anyway? 'African-American' ain't helping nobody. Racism is racism, regardless of what label you slap on it. Not to mention that Africa is a continent, not a country, and I'm not from there. I'm an American, and ain't nobody going to qualify my right to be here. I'm black, and I'm proud, and that's the end of it. If I get anywhere, it will be because of _my_ mind, _my_ beauty, and _my_ talent."

Santana considered the girl with newfound respect. She nodded slowly. "I understand, and I agree. I refuse to be defined by my ethnicity; it's only one part of who I am. And while it's a significant part, and I take pride in it, I belong to no one but myself."

Mercedes eyed her suspiciously, but at last grunted an acceptance.

"I've had to fight for everything I have," Santana continued, "but I've earned it. I've also taken a lot of crap from the Latinos because I don't engage in typical Latino activities, whatever those are supposed to be." She rolled her eyes. "But the bottom line is that with us working together, we inadvertently unite two groups who can and will provide a buffer should others try to unseat us."

Mercedes gaped at her. "You want to use reverse racism to make a power play for the school?"

"Yes."

Mercedes blinked owlishly. "Damn. I mean, _damn_." She looked at Santana and shook her head. "You've got a pair on you, girl. I always thought you did, but nothing like this."

She closed her mouth and truly thought about Santana's idea. Surprisingly, she was okay with it. Her skin color had never been a boon to her in this whitebread town, and she wasn't necessarily opposed to using it to her advantage, but she would have to deliberate over it more carefully before she agreed to anything.

She cleared her throat. "Another thing. You made your point," she said to Santana, "you're popular in your own right, but Kurt isn't." She held up a hand. "No offense, boy," she said to him, "you're all that _and_ a bag of chips, but you have to believe on some level that you hanging with Santana isn't going to bring you up, but bring her down."

Kurt bit his lip. "Your point is not lost me," he said quietly.

Santana huffed. "Ridiculous. If you'll notice, Mercedes, it's only the grunting, jockstrap-wearing contingent of the school population that has a problem with Kurt." She paused and grinned wryly. "And it _does_ beg the question as to why. After all," she purred, "just what _is_ it about Kurt that so threatens them?"

Kurt flushed spectacularly.

Mercedes smirked; she was willing to admit, albeit silently, that Santana Lopez was far more of a player than anyone realized. And she liked it.

"Once the girls see Kurt with me," Santana continued, "they'll fall in line. Most of them already like him because the boy can dress and he's gorgeous."

Kurt mumbled something inarticulate.

She laughed. "It's true, Kurty," she said, pinching his cheek and snickering when he slapped away her hand. "You're absolutely stunning, and half the girls I know would kill for your skin. If we weren't living in Backwater, you'd be running the school on your own and the girls would protect you from the guys. The only reason that hasn't happened here yet is because you need an opening, someone who can make clear that it's acceptable for you to wield the power you already possess."

She turned back to Mercedes. "Don't get me wrong; when they see Kurt on my arm, there _will_ be talk, but it will be mostly positive." She raised a brow. "Do you have any idea, Mercedes, how many girls despise you because you're Kurt's best friend and they're not?"

Mercedes blushed and dropped her eyes.

"I'm serious. What teenage girl in her right mind wouldn't want a gay best friend? One who can dress you, one who will take you shopping and give you honest criticism, someone who will kill the boy who tries to mess with you? Someone who will have your back no matter what?"

She sighed. "In many ways, Quinn is my best friend, but there was always tension between us for control of the school and different boys. We've both dated Puck and Finn. We could never truly trust one another because of that. Girls are natural rivals, but what you and Kurt have?" She shook her head. "I'd give anything for that."

A very _bad_ feeling began coursing through Mercedes.

Santana rolled her eyes, already prepared. "No," she said. "I would never try and take him from you, and even if I did, I'd fail. He loves you, and that's obvious to anyone who has ever seen the two of you together. When I came over here tonight to make my case, Kurt made it clear from the outset that he would do nothing before speaking with you, and he would never stand at my side without you at his."

"Don't do it!" Kurt screeched, too late.

Mercedes tackled him.

* * *

Quinn looked out the window and frowned. "What are we doing here?"

Brittany blinked. "This is Kurt's house," she said with surprise.

Quinn prayed for patience. "Yes," she said slowly. "You drove us here."

"Oh, yeah! I'm a very good driver."

Quinn rolled her eyes, the Rain Man comment all but demanding release from her mouth, but she forced herself to swallow it. "Why are we at Kurt's house, Brittany? You said we were going to Santana's."

"No," Brittany said, drawing out the word for a ridiculous number of syllables and ending it with a questioning lilt. "I said we were going to see Santana. Santana is in there," she added, pointing at the house.

"Santana is with _Kurt_?" Quinn demanded.

This could not be good. In fact, it was dangerously scary.

Brittany nodded, nonplussed. "They're friends now."

A surge of foreign, unwelcome jealousy surged through Quinn's veins, and she didn't immediately understand why. She and Kurt hadn't been friends for years, so why should she care with whom he chose to spend his time?

But she _did_ care, a lot, and she was bothered that Santana could possibly replace her.

Of course, she also understood that, on some level, she had been replaced long ago with Mercedes, and she had never felt threatened.

Quinn angrily shook her head. No. Santana had already taken Puck, and while Quinn had felt no small relief over that, she would be damned if she'd allow that bitch to take anyone else from her.

She threw open the door and began stomping up the walk, with no real plan in mind. Stupid hormones, making her feel things.

As her heels clattered on the cement, in the space of mere seconds, she vividly recalled her childhood, and at the center of every happy memory was Kurt Hummel. Every birthday party, every holiday, every special occasion, Kurt was right beside her, her biggest supporter; her best friend.

She flash-forwarded through high school, and wave after wave of horrific guilt washed over her. The dumpster diving, the obscene notes, the bullying, the slushies: she had heard all about it, had seen more of it than she realized, and she had never put a stop to it, all because she had been too afraid to do so.

She had sacrificed the best friend she ever had on the altar of popularity, and for what? No good reason she could discern.

One irresponsible and irreparable mistake had made her as much of an outcast as Kurt had ever been, and there were far too many people waiting in the wings to cash in on her stupidity. She was sure that was Santana's game, and she was going to put a stop to it.

Except that she knew on a fundamental level that Kurt would never hurt her that way. Oh, she wouldn't blame him if he did; she well knew she was owed recompense for the way she had treated him. She furiously blinked back tears, remembering the day in sixth grade when she had told Kurt they could no longer be friends. He had been so accepting, so understanding, and he had never tried to dissuade her, though she knew she had destroyed him in that moment.

And he had respected her wishes. He had left her alone, never tried to initiate contact, never even looked at her again, and that was when she had realized the foolish choice she had made.

She had put her best foot forward, however, and pursued other friends, and while some had been genuine, none of them had ever approached what she had once shared with Kurt. Before Babygate, she had been constantly surrounded by people craving her approval; she was never alone, but was always lonely. And, over the years, she had longed to beg Kurt's forgiveness, but she had never asked. Not because she thought he would not forgive her, but because she knew he _would_. She was filled with shame.

She curled a lip and straightened her shoulders. She would not allow Santana Lopez to use Kurt and then toss him aside. She would stop this absurdity before it ever began; she owed him that much. She might not possess the power she once had, but she was more than enough woman to take Santana down a few notches. She smiled predatorily. She was actually looking forward to it.

All of her confidence fled, however, when she knocked upon the Hummels' door and Santana answered, greeting her with a knowing look.

To quote Mercedes: _Oh, hell to the no!_

"I don't know what idiotic scheme you've plotted," Quinn snarled, "but it ends now."

Santana raised a brow. "Does it really?"

Quinn wanted to smack that smug look right off the bitch's face.

"Hi, San!" Brittany chirped.

Santana's face softened. "Hey, babe." She moved aside. "Come on in."

Brittany bounded over the threshold and entered the house, stunning Quinn with the ease with which she navigated it, as if she had been there before. Many times.

Quinn frowned. What was happening here? Were Kurt and Brittany friends? Since when, and for how long? She shook her head to clear it. Glee, of course. Brittany was one of Kurt's backup dancers. Of course, she had never considered that Brittany and Kurt might actually _like_ each other. And if they did, perhaps Santana's presence was not unusual.

She narrowed her eyes and entered the house, turning to face the other girl. "I will kill you if you hurt him."

Santana's face flickered briefly with actual emotion. "I think you're a little late to be making such threats, don't you? Haven't you already hurt him enough for the both of us?"

Quinn reeled back and turned sharply when she heard a gasp from behind her. What was Mercedes doing here? She became even more confused when Santana and Mercedes held a silent conversation with their eyes. What the hell was happening in this house? Had she stepped into _The Amityville Horror_?

"Is that my little Quinnie-Pie?" called a gruff voice.

Quinn's breath hitched and, before she knew it, she was swept up into the loving embrace of Burt Hummel. The tears began falling before she realized as she drunk in the scent of the man who, for ten years, had been more of a father to her than her own had ever been.

"Uncle Burt?"

"There's my girl," he murmured, holding her as she shuddered in his arms. "Now, now," he soothed, pulling back from her and gently wiping away her tears, "none of that." He cleared his throat. "I hear I'm going to have a new little niece, is that right?"

She nodded, her hands reflexively coming to rest over her swollen stomach.

He nodded in concert as menace fell over his eyes. "Tomorrow, we'll go over and get your things from that no-good's house."

She looked up at him in confusion.

"You're going to be staying here from now on." His words were a pronouncement which brooked no argument.

She shook her head. "I can't…I can't ask you to…"

He held a finger to her lips. "Then it's a good thing you didn't ask, isn't it?" he smiled gently. He then leaned over toward her ear. "My boy really went to bat for you tonight, because he's a good man and he still loves you."

She whimpered and clutched at him.

"You hurt him badly once," he continued. He again pulled back and stared into her eyes. "Don't do it again," he softly warned.

She shook her head. "Where is he?" she whispered.

"In the kitchen." He patted her back. "You know the way."

She swallowed heavily and turned away, slowly walking down the hall. When she entered the kitchen, she saw him sitting at the table. At her sharp intake of breath, he stood quickly and studied her, nervously adjusting his collar. She was so overcome with emotion, she launched herself at him, and he caught her, just like he always had.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry. I was a stupid bitch, and I'm just so damn sorry."

"I know," he murmured, gently running his fingers through her hair. "I know."

His eyes found Santana, whose face was masked. Mercedes was glaring at him and he knew theirs would be a conversation for the ages. Brittany was completely confused, but nonetheless clasped her hands together and shed several happy tears.

Quinn remembered all of the times he would sit for hours and braid her hair with endless patience; she had never been able to duplicate his immaculate styling. She all but purred under the ministrations he was paying her now. She had been so foolish, so naïve, for so many reasons, but none more so than for willingly walking away from the best man she had ever known, gay or straight.

"Please forgive me," she whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her. "Oh, I did that years ago, but all you ever had to do was ask."


	3. The Journey Home

Quinn discovered that once she had Kurt in her arms again, she was extremely reluctant to let him go, as if this were all a fantasy and he would disappear from her life as some sort of cruel retaliation. She wouldn't blame him were it true; she had, after all, banished him simply because he was inconvenient.

She still had difficulty reconciling that he had forgiven her so easily. Had anyone treated her the way she had him, she would have publicly humiliated them and then made them grovel. That was what her social circle, and her father, had taught her was appropriate, and she wondered briefly if Kurt was plotting some elaborate scheme against her at the behest of Santana.

Almost immediately, she chided herself. Kurt simply didn't operate that way. Yes, he was a bitch, but he wasn't malicious. Not to mention that if he was being insincere, there was no way he would involve his father, let alone extend an offer for her to move into his home. She dismissed her worry from her mind and settled back comfortably against him, ignoring the looks of horrified incredulity Mercedes was shooting her way.

"I just need to know one thing," Kurt said quietly, not seeing the other girls inch forward.

Quinn tensed involuntarily. "Of course," she said lightly.

He swallowed heavily. "Santana said there was, um, alcohol involved when you and Puck…"

She felt his blush from where his cheek rested against hers. "There was," she admitted. "Why?"

He closed his eyes and she felt his lashes flutter against her temple. Good lord, his eyelashes were long, longer than hers. That was totally unfair.

"Quinn," he said slowly, "he didn't, oh god," he gasped, "please tell me he didn't rape you."

Her gaze inadvertently became ensnared by that of Santana, who blanched.

"No," she whispered. "Puck's many things, Kurt, but he's not a rapist. He would never do that to me, or to anyone else for that matter." She sighed. "Even though I loved Finn, I wanted to be with Puck, and the wine coolers helped me let my guard down. Did he take advantage of the situation? Yes. Did he take advantage of me? No, absolutely not."

Kurt exhaled noisily through his nose. "Okay. I just had to make sure."

Santana cocked her head. "What would you have done if he had?" she asked him.

His eyes locked with hers. "I would have killed him. Without compunction, and without regret."

Quinn shivered. She didn't doubt him.

Santana nodded. It was rather ridiculous how fond she was becoming of him, and so quickly, too.

Kurt smirked. "And I would have had you help, of course."

She cackled. "Of course."

He turned to Mercedes. "So, I guess we should talk."

She glared. "You think?"

He gently removed Quinn from his lap, surprising her with the ease with which he lifted her, and deposited her in the chair next to his at the kitchen table. He then held out his hand, which Mercedes snatched immediately, hauling him off into the living room.

Quinn sighed and rested her head in her hands. "Great. Another reason for her to hate me."

"Oh, she hates everyone but Kurt," Santana said dismissively, rolling her eyes.

Brittany bounced over to Quinn and patted her shoulder in a bid for comfort. Quinn smiled up at her. Somehow, everything looked better with Brittany at your side.

Santana cleared her throat and gracefully sat down. She quickly outlined what had brought her to Kurt's house that night, informing Quinn that Mercedes was on board, and stating that Kurt wanted Quinn herself involved as well, in order to insulate her more fully from the idiot contingent that had been targeting her since news of her pregnancy had spread.

"He did that for me?" Quinn asked softly.

Santana sighed. "Yeah, well, I thought Mercedes was his only weakness, but apparently you're another. I hadn't counted on that, but I can't fault him. You're kind of a weak spot for me, too." She frowned. "But if you tell anyone that, I'll shave your head and use your hair to stuff throw pillows."

Quinn's laughter echoed throughout the room.

* * *

Quinn, Brittany, and Santana sat at the kitchen table and listened while Mercedes shrieked at Kurt for a good ten minutes.

"She has amazing breath control," Santana drawled.

Brittany nodded. "She's a very good singer."

Santana smiled, reached over, and tucked a tendril of Brittany's hair behind the girl's ear. "You like Kurt, don't you, babe?"

Brittany nodded, somewhat frantically. "He's really nice. He never makes fun of me, and he bought me a scarf which he says matches my eyes, and he yelled at Puck for calling me stupid."

Quinn flinched as Santana's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Puck called you stupid?" she barked.

Brittany nodded again, this time somewhat sadly. "But Kurt overheard and told Puck that if he ever called me that again, he'd circumcise him with a butter knife." She looked up. "What's circumcise?"

"A damn good idea."

* * *

To say that Mercedes was frustrated was akin to saying Rachel Berry needed Ritalin.

She sat there and listened as Kurt described his former relationship with Quinn, all but panting with fury when he revealed that she had basically unloaded him for the sake of popularity. How pathetic was that? And now Kurt was not only willing to forgive the bitch, but allow her to move into his home? She loved her boy more than anything, but she definitely thought his cheese had slipped off the cracker.

"She's just going to hurt you again."

He inclined his head. "That is a very real possibility," he conceded, "and one I am willing to chance." He paused and looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. "She needs help, Mercedes, and I couldn't live with myself if I were in a position to do that and just abandoned her."

"You mean like she did to you?"

He sighed and rubbed his face with a hand. "Sweetie, what is this really about? Are you afraid I'm replacing you with Quinn?" He raised a brow. "Because that is patently absurd, and I am offended by the very suggestion."

Mercedes flushed spectacularly.

"Yes," he continued, "Quinn and I were once very close, but not as close as you and I are." He took her hand in his and intertwined their fingers. "You're my life, Mercedes. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you. Before you…well, let's just say that I don't know if I would still be here if not for you."

Her face became stricken and her eyes filled with tears.

"If it ever came down to a choice," he said, his voice rough, "I would choose you over everyone except my father. But Quinn would never ask me to choose." His eyes searched hers. "I hope you wouldn't, either." He looked away and swallowed. "I don't have many friends, Mercedes. Outside of you, only Tina and Artie can be bothered to acknowledge me outside of Glee.

"Quinn was my best friend for a long time. I went through a lot with her. She's the only one who…" He set his jaw and looked away, tears slipping from his eyes.

She took his hands in hers. "Tell me, baby."

He took several slow, deep breaths. "She's the only one, other than my father, who remembers my mother, who remembers how special she was. That means something to me. Yes, Quinn has made some bad choices, but she's not a bad person. Truly, she's not. And, yes, she hurt me horribly, but if I hold on to this grudge, what does it get me? What does it say about me as a person if I can't forgive her?" He shook his head. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm doing this as much for myself as I am for her." He looked at her. "Does that make sense?"

She nodded slowly. "More than I'd like," she admitted.

"I love her, Mercedes," he whispered. "Maybe more than is healthy, but it's true. I can't, I won't, erase all the years I had with her because she hurt my feelings. She's here, and she's apologized, and I'm choosing to accept that because I know when she's being insincere, and she's not. She really is sorry." He picked at imaginary lint on his trousers. "I've missed her."

She sighed. "Okay."

He smiled softly. "But if it will make you feel better, I promise that if she hurts me again, I'll let you cut her. But only after the baby is born."

She grinned. "And Santana?" she asked somberly.

The corners of his mouth quirked up. "Honestly?"

She nodded.

"I actually like her. She says what she wants, does what she wants, apologizes for none of it, and just expects people to fall in line. Most of the time, they do. I think she's awesome."

* * *

Santana quickly abandoned her post by the door and resumed her seat at the table.

This was not going according to plan. She had come here to draft a partner-in-crime. She hadn't expected to walk away with a friend.

It was unsettling.

All the same, she couldn't seem to wipe the stupid, soft smile from her face.

* * *

Kurt and the girls were again settled around the kitchen table.

Mercedes had extended a truce to Quinn, but cautioned the girl that if she did anything to hurt Kurt, no one would ever find her body. Quinn had nodded stiltedly and made clear that under no circumstances would she hurt Kurt again, nor would she allow anyone else to hurt him. The two held a brief conversation with their eyes, and Mercedes at last grunted her acceptance.

"Dinner's here," Burt bellowed from the hallway, throwing open the door before the deliveryman could even ring the bell.

"On it, Dad," Kurt called. "Quinn, if you'd set the table, please. You remember where everything is?"

She smiled and nodded, crossed over to the cupboards, and began opening them.

"I'll make a light salad," he continued. "We'll need something to counteract all that MSG." He grimaced and shuddered. "Mercedes? Drinks?"

She nodded and headed for the refrigerator.

"What can I do?" Brittany asked.

Kurt smiled down at her and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "You have the most important job of all. Just be Brittany. Brittany makes the rest of us happy."

She blinked. "Okay! But who else would I be? Oh! We should totally have aliases! Like, Mercedes could be the Fierce One! You know, like Tyra, but not lame."

Mercedes' tinkling laughter filled the room.

* * *

"What are you up to?" Burt demanded of his son.

Kurt raised very wide, innocent eyes to his father. "What do you mean?"

Burt pursed his lips and nodded. "Don't act like I don't know you. You're up to something, all right." His eyes narrowed. "You're plotting."

Kurt laughed uneasily. "That's ridiculous," he protested, diving back into his rice and planning his fitness regime for the next three days around this sudden and unwelcome influx of carbohydrates.

Burt eyed him. "Uh huh." He raised a brow, one of the few gestures his son had inherited from him. "You're plotting," he nodded. "So what's up? I smell fear. I like that smell, but what's up?"

Santana stared at him with undisguised fascination. She was an excellent judge of people, which was why she didn't like most of them, but she liked this man. She promptly decided Burt Hummel was made of awesome. There should be t-shirts. She'd look into it later.

"Nothing's going on, Mr. H," Mercedes said. "It's all good."

He snorted.

"Let's cut the crap," Santana interjected. "Mr. Hummel, we plan to take complete control of the school. I will assume my natural position as queen of all I survey, with your son as my first lieutenant. After that, world domination is the next logical step. Or possibly a talk show."

Burt stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open, his fork dangling from his hand as shrimp dropped back onto his plate. "I like you."

She sneered. "Get in line."

He exploded in laughter.

* * *

"I said no."

"But Dad!" Oh, sweet Lord, had he just whined? How gauche.

"No, son," Burt repeated, shaking his head. "I don't want you coming with me and Quinnie when we go to get her things from that boy's house." He sighed. "I know you try to shield me from what goes on at your school – which, by the way, is unacceptable; I am the parent, not you – but I've heard talk, and most of it is centered around Noah Puckerman." He frowned. "If this Punk character has anything to say about Quinnie moving in here, he'll say it to me."

Santana snorted. She'd pay to see that. In fact, she could sell tickets for it. She smirked. She figured that once Puck was confronted with Burt Hummel, he'd be shitting his pants in under two minutes. She hoped Quinn would take pictures.

"Uncle Burt is right, Kurt," Quinn said. "You know how Puck is. He overreacts to everything at first, and too often you're his target. So let's not make it that easy for him, okay?" She frowned. "And he needs to learn he cannot make my decisions for me." Her eyes became hard. "In fact, I'm really sick of men making my decisions." Suddenly, a blush crept up her neck. "I didn't mean you, Uncle Burt."

He smiled and stroked her hair. "I know that, Quinnie. If your father wasn't such a…" He sighed and shook his head, deciding it best not to open that can of worms. For all that man was, he was still the girl's father.

Santana paused in scraping a plate into the trash, stunned that she was engaging in such a menial task. "You know Quinn's parents?"

Burt nodded. "Suzanne, my wife, was very close with Judy. They had been friends since high school." He smiled at Quinn. "She'd be very glad you're here."

Quinn sighed and curled up against his side. "I miss her."

"Me too, sweetheart. Me too."

Santana and Mercedes noticed how Kurt, standing at the sink and washing dishes, stiffened. He didn't say anything, so neither did they.

Burt cleared his throat. "All right, so I've somehow been talked into allowing my teenage son to have a weekend sleepover with four incredibly beautiful women." He shook his head. "Fabulously gay son or not, I'm not sure how that happened, but I want you to know you're welcome in my home, and feel free to help yourself to whatever's in the fridge."

He turned to Kurt. "Son, I have to go back to the shop for a little while. We were having some computer problems today, and I want to make sure they're resolved before tomorrow's accounting."

Kurt frowned. "Do you need any help?"

Burt shook his head. "Just have fun with your friends, son."

Kurt nodded and beamed. "Drive carefully."

"That's what I say to you."

He raised a brow. "Yes, but unlike you, I actually listen."

Burt mock-glared. "Since when?"

Kurt put his hands on his hips. "When have I ever disobeyed you?"

"How about that time you and Quinn got into the liquor cabinet and…"

"Dad!"

"Uncle Burt!"

"Or," the man continued, "how about when you and Mercedes were at the mall, and that guy tried to steal her purse, and the two of you…"

"Dad!"

"Mr. H!"

Santana and Brittany watched the byplay with amused eyes.

Burt smirked, grabbed his keys from the counter, kissed Mercedes' cheek, and strode out of the room, whistling, promising to see them all in the morning, if not later that night.

"Okay, so, I'm kind of inappropriately in love with your father," Santana said to Kurt, who nodded.

"He has that effect on people."

* * *

After the kitchen had been cleaned, they found themselves restlessly shuffling about Kurt's basement bedroom.

"We could crank call Rachel," Brittany suggested.

Kurt shook his head. "She'd even engage in conversation with an obscene phone caller, most likely by pointing out flaws and correcting their technique."

Quinn giggled. "We could come up with new Glee numbers to present to Schue," she offered.

Mercedes snorted. "Right, and then we could stand there and watch as he passes off more solos to Finn and Rachel."

Santana plopped down on the sofa. "Kurty," she began.

"Don't call me that," Kurt said airily, before disappearing into his bathroom.

"That's what his mother called him," Quinn whispered.

Santana grimaced. That wasn't good. Still, she supposed it could have been a lot worse.

Kurt reemerged with a plastic case of quite a bit of paraphernalia, hauled Quinn over to his vanity, and began giving her a manicure.

"Your nail beds are atrocious, and I just won't tolerate it any longer," he remarked. "Unwed teenage motherhood is simply no excuse."

She blinked and then laughed.

"What were you saying, Santana?" he asked.

She cocked her head and studied him. He was letting her get away with a lot, certainly more than she herself would have allowed him. She shivered. He was getting under her skin, in the way she thought only Puck and Brittany were capable.

"Well," she said slowly, "remember what we were talking about earlier with regard to Glee?"

He nodded.

"I want to hear your impressions of the other members."

He glanced over at her. "Didn't we already cover that?"

"Important conversations only happen when I'm present," Mercedes interrupted, "so no, we didn't."

He rolled his eyes. "Very well. Brittany and Mike are clearly the best dancers in the school."

The others nodded and Brittany did a cheer.

"So it begs the question," he continued, "as to why we rely on Mr. Schue to choreograph our numbers. I mean, does anyone really doubt he's just recycling moves from his own Glee glory days?" He pursed his lips and focused on filing a particularly stubborn nail.

"Word," Mercedes said. "We might have won Sectionals, but our dancing was easily the most amateur."

Kurt nodded. "And that's something on which we need to work. I'm a fairly decent dancer, but…"

Brittany snorted, as did Mercedes.

"Spare us the humility, white boy. Besides you, Brittany, and Tina, there's no one else in Glee who could do the Single Ladies dance, with the possible exception of S. Lo. over there. And there ain't no other male in that group besides Mike who can pull his leg over his head."

"You can do that?" Santana asked.

Kurt rolled his eyes, dropped the emery board, and bent down, grabbing an ankle. He summarily pulled up his leg and placed it behind his head. He then continued Quinn's manicure.

"You're very bendy," she breathed, averting her eyes. She knew full well she was entering _that_ stage of pregnancy, and she thought it best not to allow herself to entertain any fantasies of a bendy Kurt.

He shrugged his shoulders, which was quite a feat, really.

"So, you were saying?" Santana prompted.

"I'm a fair dancer," he continued, "in part because of my flexibility, but I'm no choreographer, so you can get that thought out of your minds right now. Not to mention there's no way Puck or Finn would dance to anything I designed."

"Because they couldn't," Mercedes countered. "Finn Hudson is a disaster area. That he manages to walk erect without dragging his knuckles is an evolutionary marvel."

Kurt frowned. "Yes, and let us please refrain from mentioning the words _Finn Hudson_ and _erect_ in the same analogy. Thank you, and god bless."

Quinn observed him with worried eyes. She really needed to talk to him about Finn, because she didn't want Kurt to be heartbroken, and she sensed that was the route for which he was headed.

Santana eyed Mercedes. "You know, you're starting to sound more and more like Kurt."

The other girl smirked. "And you should hear him when he gets pissed off. He switches to ghetto slang faster than Oprah."

Santana raised an eyebrow and turned to Kurt, who shrugged. "It's a thing, so don't trip."

"Boy, put your leg down," Mercedes snapped. "I'm getting all bothered."

Kurt flushed and immediately dropped his leg, scowling when the girls laughed at him.

"So you think maybe Brittany or Mike could choreograph for us?" Quinn asked Kurt, trying to put the conversation back on an even keel.

He nodded. "They're amazing and, as Cheerios, former and present, both you and Santana have a tremendous amount of dancing experience and are able to master complicated choreography relatively easily." He frowned. "I don't understand why Schue doesn't capitalize on that." He sighed. "As much as it pains me to admit, both Rachel and Puck are good dancers as well. I just think we could be doing more."

Mercedes plopped down on his bed and considered him. "Go on, Kurt."

He shrugged. "Like I told Santana, we have a pretty amazing range of voices in our little group. It's very frustrating that we're not utilizing them."

"You said yourself at Sectionals: Rachel is our star," she challenged.

He nodded. "And she is, but that doesn't mean that her voice is necessarily the best one suited for _every_ song. Don't get me wrong, she's extremely talented." He gave a frustrated, jealous sigh. "Extremely. Still, she sometimes borders on shrill."

"I think that's fair," Santana said, "but it could come across that way because she's partnered with Finn, whose voice is so much deeper. It makes the disparity more noticeable."

"Point. Plus, Rachel has the benefit of years of professional training," Kurt continued, "and it shows. She's also very charismatic. When you're watching her sing, it's all but impossible to take your eyes off her. That said, she often leaves me cold. She's technically perfect, and I'm in awe of her skill set, but she usually doesn't make me feel anything. Mercedes, on the other hand, does."

Mercedes blushed and looked down at her hands.

He glanced at her. "It's true, you know. You move me to tears more often than not. Your voice is incredible, Mercedes. It's rich and full, and it certainly matches Rachel's in power." He cocked his head. "And I think Rachel would agree with that. She might not like to admit it, but she knows there are others in the group who possess talent in equal measure."

"You sound as though you actually like her," Quinn said.

"I wouldn't go that far," he protested, "but I do respect her. She has a great voice, and she knows what to do with it. She has a good ear, as well, and she's certainly well-versed in a variety of genres. What bothers me about her is that when it comes to music, everything she does is calculated. She pitches numbers built around her voice, and not anyone else's.

"Yes, she's our star, but Regionals is a group competition. It's not predicated on one main voice and a bunch of background noise. She doesn't seem to understand that we're being judged as an ensemble. Having Mr. Schue consistently place her at the front and center of every number suggests that the rest of us are either untalented or incapable."

Mercedes and Santana stared at him.

Conscious of their eyes, he bristled. "What?" he demanded.

Quinn smiled secretly.

"Why do I get the feeling you'd be a better director than Schue?," Santana asked.

Kurt sighed. "I like Mr. Schue. He's good, and he's done a lot for us. I just think he sometimes gets too wrapped up in his competition with Ms. Sylvester. He wants to present the group in the best light possible, and he thinks showcasing Rachel and Finn is the only viable way to do that." He shrugged. "But when Sylvester was co-director and pulled the minority students away, you saw how awesome we were. Granted, Mercedes was leading us, but we operated much more like a cohesive unit, in part because Sylvester and Mercedes wanted us to."

Santana nodded. "And what about you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Where would you rank your voice?"

He stilled and looked down at the floor. "I'm good, but I'm certainly not the best. I recognize that, and I'm okay with it."

Mercedes began huffing.

"You know it's true," he said softly. "I have a more than decent range, but my voice simply lacks the power of the others. I'm never going to get a record deal, Mercedes. At best, my voice might do well on Broadway, but if I were to pursue music as a serious career, we both know I'd end up in a supper club singing standards." He shrugged. "And let's be honest: a male soprano in this day and age is strange, and it makes people uncomfortable."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Well then, those people can go fuck themselves," she said sweetly.

Kurt gaped at her.

"You heard me," she snapped. "Who do you think you're talking to? I've known you my entire life, Kurt Hummel, and I know precisely what your voice is capable of doing, so I won't sit here and listen to you undercut yourself because you insist on comparing your voice to that of Rachel or Mercedes." She threw up her hands, ignoring him when he gasped at the mist of polish remover she sent flying. "Who wouldn't sound inferior compared to them?"

She shook her head. "They have one in a million voices, Kurt. That they both go to McKinley is statistically ridiculous. I mean, it's lucky for us that we have them, but let's get serious for a minute, okay?"

His brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"First of all, your range is way beyond 'more than decent'. You hit notes that no one else in that club can hit, the girls included." She held up a hand. "And don't even get me started with that high F, especially since I know you can hit a high G, and do so easily." She glared at him. "I don't know why you threw that competition, but you did, and you can best believe we'll be discussing it later."

"I knew it!" Mercedes howled, pointing an accusing finger.

Quinn nodded. "And you're about as much of a soprano as Finn," she continued. "You can hit the notes, sure, but you can't tell me that's where you're most comfortable singing. It's simply where you've shoehorned yourself, as a countertenor. I don't know why you're afraid to use your deeper register, but you should use it a lot more often. It's very sexy."

Santana quirked a brow. Interesting.

Kurt flushed so deeply he looked sunburned. "You're wrong. I'm much more comfortable singing in my upper register."

Quinn sniffed. "Because you're afraid of losing control. You have better command over your upper register than you do your lower, and you don't want the notes getting away from you."

He gave her an incredulous look. "Well, yes, isn't that the point?"

"No," Santana argued. "The point is to show what your voice can do. We have more than enough sopranos, and while your voice provides an counterbalance to all of that estrogen, why limit yourself?" She shook her head. "You know exactly what the rest of us are capable of doing, so why are you shortchanging yourself?"

He said nothing.

"Kurt?" Brittany asked.

He forced a smile. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Who has the better voice, me or Santana?"

He fidgeted. "Santana."

She nodded. "Puck or Finn?"

"Puck."

Santana blinked. "Really?"

He nodded and then sighed. "Look, you all know how I feel about Finn, and I really don't want to talk about that, but suffice it to say that I'm not blind to him, okay? Finn's voice is decent, but it's not as good as Puck's. However, we need a tenor, and Finn is one of the best ones we've come across, though I'd lay my money on Artie. Of course, Schue would never allow him to lead. Still, you can tell Rachel is really holding back when she sings with Finn, and I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Quinn nodded slowly. "I agree."

"Mike or Matt?" Brittany continued.

"Mike."

"You can actually hear him?" Mercedes questioned. "I mean, I see his lips move sometimes, but does sound truly emerge?"

Kurt laughed. "It does. Mike actually has a very good voice, somewhere between Finn and Puck in terms of ability. He's willing to stay in the background, though, and he makes us stronger for it." He frowned. "In fact, I think he prefers hanging in the background when it comes to singing."

Brittany nodded. "He does. Tina or Quinn?"

Kurt winced. "That's like comparing apples and oranges." He turned to Quinn. "And no, I'm not just placating you. You and Tina sound nothing alike. Your styles are completely different, and that's a good thing." He looked back at Brittany. "If you mean in terms of power, Tina has a stronger voice." He pursed his lips. "When we actually get to hear it, that is. _True Colors_ was amazing."

Mercedes smiled softly and nodded. Her girl was pretty spectacular.

"You or Artie?" Brittany asked him.

He shrugged. "Same thing as Quinn and Tina; totally different styles. If pressed, I'd say my voice is technically better, but Artie has a warmer, richer tone. As much as I bemoan my lack of solos, I'm not sure I'd want to sing lead all the time. I think my voice is best in choral numbers. I provide balance, and by the same token, I need other voices to even me out, because sometimes my voice really sounds thin, depending on the material. Mercedes and Rachel can pretty much sing anything, and I think with training, the same would hold true for Santana, but the rest of us are best suited for certain genres."

Quinn nodded, and Santana sat on her hands to keep herself from either strangling him or kissing him senseless. One more compliment would put her over the edge, and she wouldn't be responsible for her actions.

Brittany twisted a lock of hair around her finger, her face a mask of concentration. "Who would you rather sing with: Mike or Matt?"

"Mike."

"Me or Tina?"

"You."

"Mercedes or Rachel?"

"Mercedes."

"Artie or Finn?"

"Artie."

"Quinn or Santana?"

"Santana."

"Why those choices?"

He frowned. "Because I think my voice would sound best with them. I could more easily match the tones. Although, I think Quinn and I would sound amazing together, if we had the right song."

Quinn smiled and patted his hand.

Brittany nodded again. "But how come you only think about with whom you would sound best, instead of who would sound best with you?" She frowned. "Is that important? I mean, does it make sense? It did when I thought it."

His mouth fell open and he fought for an answer.

Santana raised her eyebrows at Brittany. "Whom?"

Brittany nodded. "That particular grammatical construct requires the dative case."

Santana smiled. "I kind of love you."

Brittany clapped her hands. "Yay!"

Kurt huffed. "Brittany, what was the point of those questions?"

She threw him a dazzling smile. "Oh, I didn't have one. I was just asking."

He groaned and dropped his head onto the vanity, as Quinn, Santana, and Mercedes pointed and laughed at him.

Brittany squeaked softly and the others turned toward her with questioning gazes. They could all but see the thought bubble over her head.

"We should totally form a singing club!" she trilled.

Mercedes pulled a face. "Um, we're already in one, honey. Glee, remember?"

Brittany rolled her eyes. "No, I mean the five of us should form a club. You know, separate from Glee. I mean, we all practice on our own anyway, right? So why not do it together, with songs we pick for ourselves?"

Mercedes, Kurt, and Quinn stared at her before exchanging glances.

Santana grinned. "That's my girl."

* * *

Burt Hummel pulled up to the house and turned off his truck, slowly removing the key from the ignition and sighing. He didn't want to be here, but he owed it to Quinn. And judging by the missing pretentious vehicle which doubled as a penile extension, the little shithead was out somewhere.

He rolled his eyes and threw open the door, before making his way up the sidewalk. He drew in a sharp breath and rang the bell.

It was only a few seconds before his call was answered.

"Burt?"

"Hello, Judy. I think we should talk."


	4. Golden

They soon discovered that harmonizing with each other was even easier than they had anticipated.

The girls had the experience, thanks to the mash-up which had resulted in a drug-induced infamy. The absence of Rachel and Tina who admittedly had stronger voices than Quinn and Brittany, forced the two girls to step up their game, as well as allowing Santana a greater opportunity to shine, of which she took full advantage.

Kurt had listened to the impromptu concert, smiling and nodding, and gently correcting when he thought it required.

The girls took his constructive criticism in the spirit in which it was intended; they all knew they could sing, but there existed a silent agreement among them that Kurt knew more about music, particularly theory, in general.

He had declared that Santana and Mercedes balanced each other quite nicely, as did Quinn and Brittany. The latter pair were unsurprised but pleased. Santana and Mercedes eyed each other warily, but decided to trust Kurt on the matter.

None of them were prepared for the result when Kurt joined in.

It was effortless.

More than that, there was a _rightness_ about his voice merging with theirs, and the force of it almost overwhelmed them. His voice was the perfect balance, like a bridge linking the disparities between them. His voice was strong enough that it melded beautifully with those of Mercedes and Santana, but gentle enough that it didn't overwhelm the efforts of Brittany and Quinn.

His single voice highlighted all four of theirs and yet his mastery was such that it ensured he wasn't lost in the shuffle.

"Why is this so awesome?" Santana angrily demanded.

Quinn looked at her with bemused eyes. "What's your problem?"

Santana threw up her hands. "This wasn't supposed to happen! It was supposed to be about me and Hummel, kicking ass and taking names, and then phone numbers and addresses to remind everyone later just how easy it was!"

Mercedes burst out laughing.

Santana continued unabated. "And, yeah, I knew he'd want to bring Aretha along for the ride, just like he knew I'd want Britt. But I didn't expect that I'd actually _like_ Mercedes."

Mercedes' eyes widened.

"And you!" Santana barked, pointing at Quinn. "You weren't supposed to be a part of this at all! But then Hummel got all doe-eyed over you, and now I realize how much I've missed you and _I don't like it_!"

She plopped down on the sofa and crossed her arms defensively over her chest, huffing. Brittany made to scamper over to her, but stopped when Kurt placed a halting hand on her arm.

"I got this," he whispered.

She nodded uneasily.

He stormed across the room and sat down on the coffee table across from Santana. Wordlessly, he grabbed her feet, plucked off her admittedly fabulous shoes, and threw them across the room. He then deposited her feet in his lap and began massaging them.

She glared at him in perturbation, but then he did _something_, and it was all she could do to keep herself from making sex noises.

"Look," he said, "you don't do emotions. I get it, because I don't either, but this is a good thing. You trust Brittany implicitly, as I do Mercedes. We both love Quinn. This is a safe place, Santana. No one's going to judge you. No one's going to run their mouths to the wrong people." He glared at the other three girls. "Right?"

They nodded, glassy-eyed.

He turned back to Santana and smirked. "And, of course, you know what this means."

She eyed him. "What?" she asked, almost unwillingly.

"We'll just have to be absolute _bitches_ to everyone else."

She grinned evilly.

* * *

He motioned for the others to join them. Brittany immediately flocked to Santana and snuggled up against her. Quinn joined them on the sofa, while Mercedes sat next to Kurt.

"This isn't going to be easy," he said, "but I want this to work, not only because I think it can, but because I honestly like all of you. I trust you. However, we should set some ground rules."

They nodded, Santana more emphatically than the other three.

"First of all," he continued, "Santana and I are a lot alike." He raised a brow. "Perhaps _too_ much alike, which is why we need the three of you to balance us."

"How do you mean?" Brittany asked.

"Well," he said slowly, "I've noticed that Santana does not enjoy being touched, isn't that right?"

Brittany nodded. "Except by me."

He nodded in kind. "I'm the same way. I allow it with Mercedes, as I used to with Quinn, but I keep my emotions very…controlled. I have to." He drew in a sharp breath. "Physical affection is difficult for me. I don't know why. Perhaps it's because I lost my mother when I was so young, but it's just not something I enjoy."

Brittany sniffed. "That's sad."

"It kind of is," he softly agreed. He cleared his throat. "But it's how I survive, because I know that if I display any outward sign of weakness, it will be exploited."

Santana stared at him, silently damning him for making her _feel_ things.

"Santana understands this, as does Quinn, because when you climb your way to the top of the high school food chain, you instinctively know that there is someone waiting right behind you to toss you back to the bottom. You can never really trust your friends to have your back because you know they'll eventually stick a knife in it."

Quinn snorted. "I found that out the hard way."

He nodded. "Well, it's like that for me, too. I force myself more often than not to feel nothing, because if my face betrays how I truly feel, even for a moment, the bullying would only get worse." He straightened his shoulders and, suddenly, the room seemed to fill with his essence. "I will never let them see how badly their words cut. I will never let them know how much pain they inflict on me. And I will never let them see me cry."

Brittany whimpered. Mercedes and Quinn shot him looks of such sorrow, he knew that, were he not a stronger person, he would have started bawling right then and there.

Santana's eyes searched his. She made a silent vow that anyone who ever hurt him would go down hard, and damn if his eyes didn't say he felt the same about her. She had to put a stop to this before she punched him.

"Ground rules," she snapped. "What are they?"

He appeared relieved by the change in topic. "Well, the phrase I've most heard bandied about by the trying-way-too-hard-to-compensate set is 'bros before hos'. That's what I propose for us."

Brittany tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"That, from here on out, we present a united front," he explained, "and by that I mean that if some idiot comes after one of us, they take on all of us. If someone ridicules Quinn and my little niece, that person gets put on blast so fast, their head ricochets from our collective verbal assault."

Santana nodded, eyes gleaming.

"If someone says something unkind about Mercedes' weight," he continued, "we pick apart that person's physical appearance bit by bit, until they're nothing but a sobbing mess who's gone fetal on the floor and wants to crawl into a hollow log and die."

Mercedes blushed, but Santana was really getting in to this. Big time.

His face shut down. "Anyone who says anything untoward about Brittany is met with extreme prejudice."

And Santana wanted to kiss him, because he _got_ it. He wasn't putting on airs to mollify her; he really _cared_ about Brittany. He saw her for the wonderful, amazing person she was and not the girl so many easily dismissed. He wanted to protect her, not because he believed Brittany was incapable of defending herself, but because he knew she was worth defending.

"From now on," he said, "we look out for one another in public and call each other out on our nonsense in private. In private, this is a democracy, but in public, Santana is the queen. She's the one who will have to establish our reign, which means she's the one who will be out there, front and center. We all know she's not a vulnerable person, except maybe where Brittany is concerned, but she will be perceived as one. That means that, no matter what, whether we agree or disagree with her decisions, we publicly support her. Anyone who goes after her has to go through the rest of us first, because if she falls, the rest of us will go tumbling after."

Quinn and Mercedes eyed each other uneasily, neither one yet willing to turn their autonomy over to Santana Lopez. Still, they understood the veracity of Kurt's words. Santana was not only to be their monarch, but their literal figurehead. If this was going to work at all, they had to trust her. Of course, by the same token, she had to rely on them, which they both knew would be difficult for her.

"It's like chess," he elaborated, as if reading their minds. "The Queen is the most powerful piece on the board, but when the pawns attack _en masse_, they're unstoppable."

Santana nodded. "Who do you think is the greatest threat?"

"Puck," he immediately answered. "He's been with you, Brittany, and Quinn, has been eyeing Mercedes for some nebulous reason, has been mercilessly bullying me for years, and knows Mercedes and I are each other's weak spots. His popularity has taken a hit, but he still has rallying power." He exhaled. "He has the potential to be a massive thorn in our side. Can you even imagine what he will do once he learns Quinn is not only moving in with me, but that you spent the weekend here with _both_ of us?"

She ran her tongue over her teeth and nodded. "Suggestions?"

He stared into her eyes and smirked. "A preemptive strike."

She smiled wide, baring her teeth. "Awesome."

"Uh," Mercedes interrupted, "what does that mean?"

He patted her knee. "You just let Santana and I worry about that."

She blinked and turned to Quinn. "I guess we'll just leave it in their capable hands?"

Quinn nodded and shuddered. "I don't think I want in on this, and the less time I have to spend with Puck, the better."

Kurt nervously adjusted his hair. "They'll try to trick us, you know. They'll try to divide us." He looked at each one in turn. "We can't let them."

"And we won't," Mercedes said. She still wasn't sure about all of this, about these other girls, but she trusted Kurt, who trusted Brittany and Quinn, and, for whatever reason, Santana. And the thought of having real friends – true friends other than Kurt, Artie, and Tina – friends on whom she could count and who could count on her, was incredibly appealing. She was willing to make some concessions.

"And what about you?" Quinn asked Kurt, voice soft and eyes hard. "What about those creeps who target you every single day?" She glowered. "You don't honestly believe we're going to allow that to continue, do you?"

Mercedes backed her up with a nod and a gruff growl.

"Oh, you leave them to me," Santana purred.

* * *

"I'm hungry," Quinn complained.

Kurt eyed her. "This isn't going to be one of _those_ pregnancies, is it?"

Her mouth fell open in indignant fury. "Are you calling me _fat?_"

"Of course not," he snapped back. "I merely meant that I am hoping you aren't indulging any bizarre cravings which will make my already-sensitive stomach that much more weak." He raised his nose in the air and turned away from her.

She rolled her eyes. "No strange cravings yet, but," she paused, sending a smirk his way, "I could really go for some tacos."

Oh, yeah. She knew his weakness and was certainly not above exploiting it for her own ends. She was a girl, after all. She was blond. She had been a cheerleader. She was _Quinn Fabray_. It was simply part of her constitution.

"Not fair," he protested, softly whining.

"Totally fair. You called me fat."

"I did not! But now I'm thinking that I _should_."

She glared. "Try it, and you'll wake up tomorrow morning wondering where to find your Clinique pore-refining mask."

"You wouldn't!" he screeched.

"Oh, I _so_ would."

"You go too far, Miss Fabray," he warned. "Don't forget all I know of you."

Fear lighted her eyes and a blush slowly spread across her face.

He preened in triumph.

"What's the deal with tacos?" Santana demanded. "Sure, they're the food of my people and crunchy goodness, so I understand the significance of their deliciousness, but what the hell's going on?"

Quinn blinked. "Crunchy goodness?"

Kurt sneered. "The food of your _people_?"

"Shut up," she barked. "Both of you!"

Mercedes gave Kurt her best stink-eye. "Boy, what is this with you and tacos?"

Quinn threw back her head and cackled. "We were, what, Kurt, six?" She snickered when he pressed his voluptuous lips into a thin, bloodless line. "He drove Aunt Suzanne nuts. If he didn't have tacos, he would rant for hours, refusing to eat anything at all. They practically lived at Taco Bell."

Mercedes stared at him. "You ate fast food," she said in disbelief.

He blushed and looked down at his hands. "That was a very difficult time. I was confused. Let's not dwell on this."

"But what's wrong with tacos?" Brittany asked. "They're magically delicious!"

"Those are Lucky Charms," Quinn corrected.

Brittany shrugged. "What's the difference?"

Quinn stared momentarily before turning to poke Kurt. "Tacos. I want them."

He sighed.

"Twinkies," she hissed.

Kurt groaned and involuntarily licked his lips.

"No way," Mercedes gasped.

He nodded sadly.

Santana raised a brow. "So Hummel was once fixated on a phallus-shaped sponge-like snack filled with cream? Well, let me put on my Big Surprise Face!"

Quinn and Brittany burst out laughing as Kurt scowled. Then he smirked and trained his eyes on the ceiling.

"How very droll," he sneered, "especially coming from the girl who, in fifth grade, came to school every day for a month dressed as Sailor Moon."

Santana flushed. "Sailor Moon was all kinds of awesome and you know it, so don't even front."

"You want to go there?"

"Bitch, I bought a house _there_. And I seem to remember a little fey boy running around the kindergarten playground, waving a stick and shrieking 'For the Honor of Grayskull!'"

He pulled back his head and glared. "Don't you dare question the majesty of She-Ra."

She shrugged. "I'm not. I'm all for any heifer matching her jewelry to her house, but He-Man was way more awesome."

Kurt started ranting about steroid-abusing Etherians with orange skin, ugly pageboys, and bad dye jobs.

Santana laughed in his face.

"About those tacos," Quinn interrupted.

Kurt growled. "Fine. I will drive you to that accursed establishment, where you can gorge to your heart's content on triglycerides and preservatives."

"Thank you," she sang, kissing his cheek.

He hadn't developed a defense mechanism for that maneuver as of yet, so he fell silent.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Brittany said, "for Quinn to go with you, I mean. We don't want anyone to know that we've formed this, uh, group yet, right? Not until school on Monday."

He nodded. "Very true. An excellent point, Brittany." He turned to Santana and grinned. "Has Puck texted you tonight?"

She shrugged. "Of course. Why?"

"Preemptive strike time."

Her eyes shimmered as she whipped out her cell phone. "Where and when?"

"Taco Bell," he said, grimacing. "Twenty minutes."

"Don't you think he'll wonder why Santana's with you?" asked a skeptical Mercedes.

He shrugged a shoulder. "He'll probably ask, but that doesn't mean he'll get an answer. Santana doesn't owe him one and he knows better than to push her."

Santana nodded as she texted the coordinates.

"Besides," Kurt continued, "as far as Puck knows, Quinn is with Brittany. He'll wonder why you aren't with me, Mercedes, and I bet he'll text you sooner rather than later to find out why."

Mercedes frowned and considered that. "I'll come up with something. So, you and Santana will just pretend to run into each other?"

He smirked and shook his head. "Oh, no. I want him to see us arrive together. I want him to question, and to wonder, and to _fear_."

Santana released a soft moan. "This is almost orgasmic."

* * *

"How lovely to see you," Judy said, holding open the door. "Please come in."

"Thank you," Burt said gruffly.

"Russell's not home."

He nodded. "I figured." He refrained from further comment on her husband.

"How is Kurt?" she asked.

He blinked and said the first thing that popped into his head. "Gay."

She nodded as though she were unsurprised and, for all knew, she was. It was something Suzanne would have discussed with her.

"Is that a problem?"

She smiled sadly at him. "Of course not, Burt. I love Kurt, and I always will." Her eyes darkened. "I am not my husband, Burt Hummel. Yes, I am a Christian, but I believe that God loves us all equally and is infallible in his Creation. If Kurt is gay, it is because he was meant to be, and the only thing I wish for him is his happiness."

He swallowed heavily, tears stinging his eyes.

"Not that I'm not happy to see you," she hesitantly continued, "but why _are_ you here, Burt? It's been a long time."

He nodded swiftly. "I'm here to collect the rest of Quinnie's things, the ones she didn't take with her. She's moving in with me and my boy."

Judy's eyes widened and she moved to shut the door. "I thought she was staying with Finn."

He avoided her eyes.

"Burt?" she prompted.

He sighed. "Finn's not the father, Judy. Noah Puckerman is."

She released a shaky breath and woodenly walked toward the living room. "I had no idea."

"Neither did Finn, apparently," he replied under his breath.

She whirled to face him. "What!"

He fidgeted under her glare. "She was scared, Judy, and I'm not defending her. She knew she would lose her parents. I guess she didn't want to lose her boyfriend too."

The woman rubbed her tired eyes and expelled a choked sob.

"If it makes you feel any better," he softly continued, "this Puckerman character didn't force himself on her. Kurt made sure to ask, and I made sure to listen."

She nodded, grateful, though as yet unable to process all of this new and unwelcome information. "I suppose that's good for Noah. Russell would have killed him."

"Kurt would've gotten there first."

Her eyes searched his. "They're friends again? Really?"

Burt nodded. "It was Kurt's idea for Quinnie to move in with us. He was adamant about it, too." He blushed. "Told me that if I didn't agree, I wasn't the man he thought I was, and that he would be dreadfully disappointed in me."

She smiled. "A direct quote, no doubt."

He nodded.

Her brow furrowed. "But where has she been staying?" Her fingers clenched at her stomach. "My god, I don't even know where my daughter is living."

He laid a hand on her arm. "She's been staying with the Puckerman boy. Apparently it isn't a good solution for anyone involved. He's been pressuring her to keep the baby, and she's not sure she wants to do that."

"She wants to give it up?"

He sighed. "Honestly, Judy, I don't think the poor girl knows what she wants. No one's bothered to ask her."

She blushed. "I didn't want her to go, Burt." The rest of the explanation hung in the air, unvoiced.

"I know that. I never doubted that." He hesitated, and then pulled from his pocket the copy of the sonogram he had filched from Quinn's handbag. Wordlessly, he passed it over. "Meet your granddaughter."

Her eyes filled. "It's a little girl."

He nodded.

She raised her gaze to meet his. "You're truly willing for her to stay with you?"

He scoffed. "It isn't even a question. I love that girl, Judy, and I always have. I'm going to make sure she goes to a good doctor. No more of this clinic shit. She has enough to worry about." He sighed. "Suzanne would want me to do this, Judy. _I_ want to do this."

She nodded, left the room, and then returned with her purse. She withdrew a small book and pressed it into his hand.

"It's a passbook to a savings account. Russell doesn't know about it." She glowered. "I wouldn't care if he did. There's not much, but it should be enough for Quinnie's medical costs, as well as clothes and other things." She twisted her hands. "I should pay you for room and board. You shouldn't have to shoulder this burden."

"Judy, you and your daughter have never been a burden. I'm more than happy to have her. That's what family is for." He reached out and cupped her cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumb. "You're a good woman, Judy, a strong woman, and you deserve so much more than that miserable asshole you call a husband."


	5. The Object of Your Desire

**Author's Notes**: Kurt is a BAMF in this chapter, because I say so. Any readers firmly entrenched in canon should abandon this story now, as it's only going to become more AU.

Some readers might take issue with how Puck is treated here. Regarding that, Puck is a bully per canon at this time. This chapter takes place sometime after Season One Sectionals, and it's necessary to reiterate that neither Kurt nor Mercedes has any real use for Puck at that time. I'm not bashing Puck, but exploring his canon personality. Have patience. This will be a long story and there is a lot to come. Conflict is necessary for good drama. So, if you're a rabid Puck fan, this chapter might bother you, thus the warning.

Two characters bash the Twilight franchise pretty heavily in this chapter. If you're a Twilight fan, you should probably refrain from reading. Please remember that these are the viewpoints of the characters and not necessarily those of the author. Please don't flame me, or I will respond in kind. Not everyone loves Twilight, just as not everyone loves Glee or every other fandom. There's room in the sandbox for all to play and for all views to be expressed, so let's respect each other, okay? Thanks!

* * *

Kurt had allotted an additional ten minutes of travel time for his and Santana's assignation with Puck, as he knew it would take at least that long for her to say goodbye to Brittany, which apparently involved tongues, molestation, moans, squeals, and partial nudity.

Cuddle Time for Brittany and Santana basically played out like the first ten minutes of a slasher film.

He had cottoned on early to the true nature of their relationship, though he was rather surprised and annoyed by how easily it was accepted. Neither Brittany nor Santana admitted outright that they were together, but they also didn't go out of their way to deny it. He noticed that both Mercedes and Quinn were unfazed by the display of Sapphic love before them, and he was angered, though he tried to conceal it. Besides, Brittany was too adorable and Santana too fierce.

"May I ask you something?" he said to Quinn, who looked up from his copy of the latest _Cosmo_.

"Sure."

He drew with his finger lazy circles on his comforter, summoning his courage and debating the best way to phrase his question. He drew in a breath. "Does it bother you that I'm gay?"

Her eyes widened before softening. "I've been a horrible friend to you," she began, closing the magazine and tossing it aside. "It's hard to believe that you've allowed me back into your home, let alone to stay." She paused and stubbornly set her jaw in an effort to stave off tears. "But these past few months, when I was alone and terrified, when I had only Finn and then Puck to hold me and really wanting neither one, I always wished for you, because no one has ever made me feel safe the way you do."

Mercedes halted in her text to Tina, though gave no outward indication she had done so.

"I always suspected," Quinn continued, "and so I wasn't surprised when you came out to Mercedes. I just want to make one thing perfectly clear."

His face tightened and he nodded.

"There is nothing you could ever say, nothing you could ever do, nothing you could ever _be_, that would make me stop loving you." She smiled. "So, no, it doesn't bother me. Not at all."

He swallowed heavily and nodded again.

"Can I hug you now?"

He shut tight his eyes and, before he could verbally consent, he was enveloped in her arms. He buried his face in her neck and breathed deeply her scent. After four years, she still smelled the same, like cantaloupe and ginger; sweet, with an undercurrent of spice.

She held him for several long moments until she sensed he could stand no more. He surprised both girls by immediately launching himself at Mercedes. She scooped him up and somehow managed to pull him into her lap.

"I got you, baby," she whispered. "Always."

"I love you," he mumbled.

"Boy, tell me something I don't know."

Still, it always surprised her when he said it because, as he told Santana earlier, he wasn't an emotional person. Oh, she knew that many believed otherwise, that he was a diva always on a rampage who used tears as weapons. It was almost comical how wrong they were. She was arguably the person closest to him, and despite everything – all of the slurs and the dumpster tosses and the slushies – she had never seen him cry. And despite the fact that Kurt always appeared to be talking, he was very economical with his words and said nothing he didn't mean. So when he did speak, when he gave those words to her so freely, the force of his love for her was overpowering, and she reveled in it.

She then looked over his shoulder at Quinn, to whom she mouthed a thank you, because damn if Princess Barbie hadn't just come through in a big way. So, okay, yeah, maybe Quinn Fabray had more to her, as well. Suddenly Mercedes was looking forward to finding out just what that was.

Quinn felt a wave of sadness wash over her, but she suppressed it. It would take time, she knew, before things were right between her and Kurt again, but she would make sure they got there. He had made the first move – and it was a hell of a first move – so the rest was up to her. She was excited and grateful for the chance to prove to herself _and_ to him that she was still the girl they both remembered she could be.

She also knew that while the girl would never admit it, and leaving sexuality aside, Mercedes Jones was very much in love with Kurt Hummel.

Quinn understood all too well. Growing up with Kurt at her side had skewed her expectations of how men would treat her – as both an equal and a better, but most importantly as a friend. She had loved Finn, but now wondered if she had ever been in love with him; their relationship had begun because of proximity rather than feeling.

As for Puck, there were lots of feelings there, but the dominant one of late had been her deep shame that she had allowed herself to hurt someone as kind as Finn. For some nebulous, ridiculous reason, she had been more angry with him than herself over this pregnancy, and it rattled her. She knew she wasn't the nicest person, that she could sometimes be quite vicious, but never had she believed herself capable of cruelty. She had treated Finn cruelly, and knew she had to make restitution.

She sighed.

She also resolved to speak to Kurt sooner rather than later with regard to his crush on Finn, because she knew if she didn't intervene, the whole thing was going to explode, and Kurt would be maimed by the shrapnel.

She felt Santana's gaze upon her and turned to meet it, a silent communication passing between them.

For all of his fabulosity and bluster, Kurt Hummel was a scared little boy who longed for his dead mother and a nice boy who would love him for himself. Before tonight, this was a weakness they would have exploited, but everything had changed, and for the better. He belonged to them now; he was theirs to protect.

And woe to anyone who got in their way.

* * *

Kurt gave himself a final appraisal in the mirror and deemed himself suitable for an excursion to Taco Bell. He then turned to face Mercedes, Quinn, and Brittany.

"Santana and I shouldn't be too long, and Mercedes knows where everything is, so please feel free to make use of my entertainment system, or help yourself to soda or water."

"You have our list?" Quinn demanded.

He held it up, clutched tightly in his hand. "Yes, Stalin, I have your orders. Would you like fries with that?"

She cocked her head and opened her mouth.

"Forget it," he snapped, cutting her off. "Occupy yourselves while we're gone, and do not touch my tiara collection."

"Your _what_?" barked an incredulous Santana.

"You have tiaras?" asked an awed Brittany, eyes huge.

He nodded. "We can play Miss America when I get back."

She applauded.

"In the meantime," Mercedes drawled, "we have this!" She withdrew a copy of _Twilight_ from her bag with a flourish.

Brittany screamed with delight. Quinn was intrigued, though her face reflected no interest.

Kurt and Santana looked at each other.

He held up a hand toward the other three girls. "I can't with them."

She rolled her eyes. "We're so out of here," she agreed.

"I know you didn't just slam my Edward," Mercedes huffed, eyes glittering dangerously.

"Vampires. Do not. _Sparkle_," Santana hissed.

"Those movies are horrible," Kurt sniffed. "Robert Pattinson's hotness was buried with Cedric Diggory and his face now resembles a throw rug from the seventies upon which several cats have vomited. Kristen Stewart looks like a sad lesbian clown waiting for a bus that will never arrive. The only way the series could possibly get any worse would be if they clothed Kellan Lutz while giving him more lines, or if they created a new role specifically for Justin Bieber."

Santana shuddered and made gagging noises. "Well, that certainly killed any appetite I had. Thanks."

"And don't even get me started on the books," he continued. "There is nothing more pathetic than a sexually-frustrated Mormon who inserts herself as a Mary Sue in her own fiction."

He paused and frowned.

"I take that back. There are several things: the fact that said books were marketed as a teenage romance when the female protagonist willingly involves herself with her admitted stalker; that anyone would even bother to purchase such drivel; and that the author cannot string together one grammatically correct sentence to save her life. That she was published at all surely signals that the End of Days are indeed upon us."

Mercedes raised a brow and pursed her lips. "You sure seem to know an awful lot about something you hate so much."

"Know your enemy," he intoned. "Besides, as much as I am loath to admit it, this disgusting debacle is tremendously popular, and you very well know that I am physiologically incapable of not being trendy. The only bright side to this tragic situation is that it affirms my long-held belief that I am superior to almost everyone.

"But, at long last," he added, turning to Santana, "I no longer stand alone on my pedestal."

She smirked and grabbed his hand. "Let's go. We have tacos to buy and egos to crush."

He nodded. "Besides, we all know what really happened. In the end, Buffy staked Edward."

Santana's eyes lighted. "Dude. That video is number one on my YouTube favorites."

Mercedes curled a lip. "Buffy," she seethed.

Kurt widened his eyes. "Don't even. We both know you have every season on DVD."

She blushed and looked away. "Yeah, whatever. I mean, it's okay and all, but I'll never understand why you worship it like a religion."

He raised a brow. "Really? Then allow me to satisfy your curiosity with two simple words: Cordelia Chase."

And Santana grinned like a loon. "No one wins harder than Queen C." She shook her head. "_No one_."

Predictably, they immediately launched into strange fandom chatter and quickly began counting down Cordelia's Greatest Hits, quoting several of her lines from both _Buffy_ and _Angel_, as well as lamenting her loss from the latter, swearing vengeance on Joss Whedon for killing off all the hot badass chicks.

Brittany watched with bewilderment plain on her face while Quinn struggled not to laugh at how absurd this all was. The only reason she succeeded was because she remembered all too well how obsessed Kurt had once been with _Xena, Warrior Princess_, and there was no way she would ever again ridicule his choices in television programming. Down that path laid great pain and the theft of diaries as future blackmail material. She shivered.

"Anya was better," Mercedes groused.

Santana growled. "One, that is so ridiculous it doesn't even bear comment. Two, Cordelia was the precursor and, as it is with both fashion and music, a redux never surpasses the original." She frowned. "Except, of course, with Glee, and only because we're better than everyone."

Kurt nodded, though he was torn. "Cordelia reigns supreme and always will, but Anya cannot be discounted. I still am unable to discuss her; the pain is just too raw."

He turned back to Santana. "You know, you actually remind me quite a bit of the Divine Miss Chase: high school royalty, cheerleader, gorgeous, brutally honest, smarter than you're given credit for being, and empathetic when you can be bothered." He closed his eyes in bliss. "God, I love a bitch."

He then opened them and nodded. "And Charisma Carpenter is half-Latina. If they do decide to reboot the franchise, you would be a shoe-in. I'll make your audition outfit and do your makeup."

She looked deeply into his eyes and took both his hands in her own. "Can we clone you? Only with some added heterosexuality?"

"Oh, my god," muttered a horrified Quinn. "They've _bonded_."

He rolled his eyes and turned back to Mercedes. "Buffy tops Edward." He smirked. "You can interpret that statement any way you wish. And don't think I don't know about the Spike poster you have tacked up in the back of your closet."

She glared. "Boy, why were you in my closet? It took you long enough to come out of your own."

He eyed her. "That was good. Kudos."

She grinned.

"So," Brittany said slowly, looking up at Kurt, "Team Jacob?"

"Girl, have you seen Shark Boy's abs? Also, major Gay Face."

* * *

The night was unseasonably warm yet maintained the crispness Santana so loved. She inhaled deeply as she stepped outside the house and all but skipped over to Kurt's SUV.

"So, any idea how you want to handle Puck?"

He grimaced. "Believe me, I'd prefer not to _handle_ him at all." He smirked. "From what I understand, that's more your forte."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Ancient history. His credit score is unremarkable." She tilted her head. "Although he has other assets which compensate."

He rolled his eyes and unlocked the car, opening the door for her. "Spare me the details, please."

She grinned up at him when he extended a hand to assist her into the vehicle. "You know, you've got this chivalrous stuff down. It's really too bad you're so unbelievably gay, because you'd make a terrific boyfriend."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Thank you. I plan to."

She conceded his point with a nod of her head as she settled in her seat.

He shut the door and crossed over to the driver side.

"And I'm going to see what I can do about that," she murmured. She bit her lip to stave off a smile. She was _so_ going to find Hummel a hot boyfriend. Ooh, project!

He fastened his seat belt and looked askance at her. "What are you up to?" he demanded, voice laced with suspicion.

"Oh, nothing," she cheerfully said. "Nothing at all."

He pursed his lips. "Funny. All of these years, I thought you were a better liar."

Her snickers didn't quell his anxiety and fear.

* * *

"Tell me something you've never told anyone else."

He snorted. "Why should I do this?"

She shrugged. "Something to pass the time," she huffed. "Come on, Hummel. I'm _bored__!_"

He sighed, knowing there was no graceful way out of this. She would continue to pester him until he acquiesced, and if he lied or put her off, it would only serve to convince her that he was hiding something. It would only be a matter of time before she would dedicate herself wholeheartedly to unearthing whatever that might be.

"Fine. I'll play your game, but in return, I get a favor to be determined later."

"That's fair," she chirped.

He hesitated, his brow furrowed. He did trust her, he did, and if he asked, he was sure that she wouldn't reveal anything he said either to Mercedes or Quinn. Still, it would make him even more vulnerable in her eyes and thus potentially undermine their new status as equals. He decided it best to offer a confession that, while sincere, in no way threatened his power.

"I hate that I'm not handsome."

She pulled a face, blinked, and turned to face him. "What?"

He shrugged. "I'm not handsome," he repeated. "Don't misunderstand me, I'm no martyr; I know that I'm attractive, but no one has ever called me handsome. Instead, I get 'cute' or 'elfin' or, most offensive, _pretty_." His mouth settled into a moue of disgust. "I'm not pretty," he insisted.

She disagreed, but held her tongue as she sensed his anger was only growing.

"I'm not a girl," he said gruffly. "Thankfully I've had a recent growth spurt and, while there's nothing I can do about my voice, I'm not a girl." He sighed and looked briefly out the side window. "I'm glad I no longer hide who I am, but the cost is far greater than I realized. I expected the taunts, the physical violence, and even the attempts to shame me, but never did I think I would be desexualized."

She frowned. "Kurt, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"The way I'm perceived," he answered simply. "I see the judgments, Santana. I hear the whispers. Do you know how many of our classmates think I'm secretly a transvestite or that I'm transgendered?"

He laughed bitterly. "While I prefer the company of women, I have no desire to be, nor dress as, one of you. I'm a man and I enjoy being one. I happen to be attracted to other men, but they don't understand that. They hear the singing, they see the dancing, they see me always with Mercedes, and they either think I have a vagina or that I want one. In reality, I'm quite happy with my penis and wish to share it with others of a likeminded persuasion."

She chuckled, but quickly sobered. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I wish I could say I was surprised by how aggressively ignorant our school is."

He shrugged. "I guess it's par for the course. It could always be worse. The suicide statistics for gay teenagers is quite high."

Her breath stilled and she waited him out.

"Last year. Pills. Dad found me in time. He didn't understand why until recently. We don't speak of it, and you must never tell Mercedes."

She felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over her head.

"I've accepted that I will never be welcome at school or in this town as long as I persist in being true to myself, and I'm okay with that. I really am. Most likely, I'll never even have a date until I am in college, and that's fine. I can wait."

How could he keep talking? She wanted to yank the steering wheel from his hands, drive the car off the road, and shake him stupid until he explained himself to her satisfaction. Jesus Christ, what the hell had he been thinking? How could he have done that to his awesome father?

But the thought most forward in her mind was whether her actions, or inaction, bore any responsibility in his attempt. She had never participated in the bullying, she wasn't that much of a hypocrite, but neither had she ever attempted to put a stop to it. Didn't that make her just as guilty as someone like Karofsky?

Fuck.

However, there was also the sense that he was holding back something crucial.

"Sometimes I wonder if my feelings for Finn are love or envy," Kurt continued. "I love him, or think I do, but I also want to _be_ him." He paused. "Except with my own brain."

She had to laugh at that.

"He's such a cliché, isn't he? Tall, dark, and handsome. He's masculine without trying. He doesn't do anything but exist, and people fawn all over him, me included. He's sexy by virtue of being himself. I want to be sexy, but I'm not; I'm _pretty_.

"I know it's not all rainbows and kittens for him. I know he's mocked for being in Glee, but nowhere near the level that I am. Yes, he's the quarterback, and I understand that translates to him being some kind of teen dream, but that team couldn't win a game until I joined it.

"They didn't even thank me. They despised me even more for showing them up, for making them dependent on me. Tanaka wants to keep me on the team, so he does his best not to offend me, but neither does he stop the harassment. He probably believes it's character-building.

"You have no idea the things they say to me in the locker room, Santana. If I were a girl, they would be expelled for sexual harassment. You have no idea how many times they've threatened to rape me because, apparently, it's a lesson I require."

She swallowed heavily and tried not to vomit, even as a ball of rage she wasn't even aware she possessed began to unfurl in her stomach. And that was good; she liked it. Cold fury was welcome at this moment, and she could work with it quite effectively.

"And Glee is no better. As I said before, I am under no misconception that I am the most talented person in that group, but I am one of the best. Schue knows this and chooses not to recognize it. He's all about acceptance and tolerance as long as it doesn't upset the apple cart. The way he caters to Finn is alarming and, frankly, disconcerting. If Finn's that reluctant about staying in the club that he needs to be shepherded constantly, we're better off without him. Schue certainly doesn't bother to coddle any of the rest of us."

He gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turned white.

"I try so hard, and it's never enough. I know it never will be. No matter how many field goals I make, no matter which notes I hit, no matter how well I dress, no matter how good my grades, no matter who my friends are, I'm always going to be Gay Kid first and Kurt Hummel second. That _hurts_."

She knew it did. She herself was stereotyped more often than not.

"And I know you understand that."

She glared at him. "Are you telepathic or something?"

He turned and grinned at her. "I have many skills."

"I'm beginning to understand that."

* * *

They rolled into the parking lot of Taco Bell at precisely the appointed meeting time.

Santana noted with awe that Kurt managed to get them there right on the dot, which would surely annoy Puck, who had a perplexing habit of always being early. She wondered if Kurt was aware of this, as well, and then decided that he must have been.

Puck would be pissed off that he had been made to wait, but could say nothing because she wasn't technically late.

A rhyme!

She snorted.

Besides, if anything, he should be grateful that he hadn't caused yet another girl to be late.

She waited for Kurt to open her door and help her down. Not that she needed help, but she had to admit, if only to herself, it was rather nice to have someone pay her such courtesy.

"How do you want to play this?" she asked.

He took her hand in his and began sashaying toward the door. That was the only word she could adequately apply to his gait. His hips rolled as if oiled, his strut loose yet powerful. If Hummel truly believed he wasn't sexy, he was absolutely insane.

"We'll let him set the pace," Kurt said. "It's always so much fun to put someone on the defensive. It cuts down on the effort one must expend and is far more amusing. Just follow my lead."

She was happy to do so and gleefully skipped alongside him.

He threw open the door to herald their arrival, and the explosion was immediate.

"Now what the fuck is this?"

* * *

Puck threw himself out of the booth he had forced two freshman to concede and stalked up to the front of the restaurant.

Of all the crazy shit he had seen in his life, the sight of Santana Lopez and _Kurt_ fucking _Hummel_ strolling in to Taco Bell together had to be the most deranged. He was appalled and infuriated and was going to demand answers, even though his lizard brain, which he utilized far more than was healthy, was screaming _Danger! Danger, Noah Puckerman!_

Kurt stared past Puck, to some fixed point on the opposite wall. "Santana, do you hear a dog howling?"

Santana, for her part, did an excellent job of not laughing.

"Lopez, what the hell is this shit?" Puck barked.

She noticed that their entrance had brought Taco Bell to a standstill.

Awesome. There was nothing more she loved than an audience.

She released Kurt's hand and, with eyes trained solely on Puck, began rubbing Kurt's upper thigh. She felt him stiffen, but his face betrayed no shock or discomfort. Damn, he was good.

Puck's eyes bugged out before he began laughing uneasily. "Yeah, right. Nice try, Lopez."

"Honey, why don't you go place our order?" she said sweetly to Kurt, though her eyes remained on Puck. "I'll deal with this."

He nodded swiftly, though loath to relinquish control of the situation. Still, if anyone could handle it, it was Santana. In fact, this might be better, because Puck would never believe anything he had to say. He leaned over and gently kissed her cheek.

"Of course, darling."

She beamed. His lips were amazingly soft. She errantly wondered how they would feel on other parts of her body. Or how they would look trailing down Brittany's stomach.

Oh, _yeah_. That was the stuff.

He sauntered up to the counter and she didn't even bother to hide her appreciation of the view.

Hummel's ass was _stellar_.

She smirked and turned back to Puck, who suddenly looked very unsure.

"What the shit is going on, San?" he growled.

She shrugged a shoulder. "Let's sit down."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever." But he followed her over to the booth.

She gracefully took her seat and flicked her ponytail. "It's very simple," she said. "Hummel is a prime piece of real estate, and I've staked my claim."

He raised an eyebrow, looking completely unimpressed.

Her smile was that of a shark. "Can you even imagine how my rep will soar once word gets out that I successfully managed to turn Hummel straight?"

Puck laughed derisively. "I'm so sure. Dude is straight now, huh? Couldn't tell by his outfit."

She inwardly snickered when she noticed Puck hadn't taken his eyes off Kurt since they sat down – and wasn't _that_ interesting? – but she sniffed disdainfully. "Your opinion is of no concern to me."

His eyes flicked toward her and narrowed.

"Or anyone else, for that matter." She curled a lip. "Let me explain this slowly, with words you can understand."

He glowered. If there was one thing he despised, it was being thought of as stupid.

Santana dissembled for a moment, debating how much to reveal. If she outright fabricated her story, Puck would be able to tell, an ability engendered in all good liars. She shrugged and decided that, in this case, discretion was not the better part of valor and plunged forward.

"I like him," she said truthfully. "He's a good dancer and has a great voice. He isn't ashamed to be himself, no matter what anyone says or thinks. He treats Brittany with the respect she deserves. He's got class and style, is a complete and utter bitch, is funny as hell, and is a damn fine piece of eye candy. He makes me laugh and he calls me out on my bullshit. He even brought me home to meet his parent," she said, glaring, "which is a lot more than certain other people were ever willing to do."

He flinched.

"The real question here isn't why I pounced on him, but why the hell hasn't anyone else?"

Puck set his jaw and shook his head. "The kid is as gay as a unicorn, Lopez, and we both know it." He rolled his eyes. "You really think anyone is going to buy this bullshit? It's only going to make it worse for him."

She raised her brows. "It almost sounds as if you care."

He scowled. "The hell I do. I sure as fuck care about Regionals, though. This Glee shit is the only thing that might give me a chance to get the hell up out of this town, and I don't want that blown because we're down a member."

She smirked. "And you really believe either Mercedes or I will allow that to happen? You're a retard if you think so."

That gave him pause, and Kurt suddenly appeared at her side.

"Another five minutes," he said, nodding to her. "Please do hurry this up, Santana. Exposure to toxic waste has a threshold, you know."

Puck glared up at him. "You think you're so smart."

Kurt inclined his head. "My perfect GPA suggests this, yes."

He pointed at Santana. "You're going to ruin her if you do this."

Kurt's icy mask momentarily dropped, but Santana stood up and shoved a finger in Puck's face.

"You know jack shit, Puckerman! Why don't you worry about your illegitimate kid and the fact that no one wants anything to do with you. And whose fault is that? You fucked up your own life, but you're such a pussy you can't deal with that and have to take it out on everyone else. Why don't you do us all a favor and go home to your empty house and sit and think about why Kurt Hummel is more of a man than you'll ever be."

She grabbed Kurt's hand and stalked up to the counter. "Is my order ready?" she barked at the flustered clerk, who nodded frantically and all but threw the carryout bags at her.

Kurt slapped down two twenties and told the kid to keep the change. He was somewhat embarrassed by the scene Santana had caused, but not enough to apologize for it. Santana rolled her eyes, grabbed the bags in one hand and Kurt's arm in the other, and began storming toward the door.

Suddenly Kurt felt a strong hand come down heavily on his shoulder and he halted in his movement.

Santana frowned and spun around on her heel, glaring at Puck.

"And what does your sassy fat friend say about all this, Hummel?" Puck hissed.

Kurt slowly tilted his head to the side and Santana's eyes widened as she watched a blanket of sheer fury descend over his face. This wasn't going to be good.

Or it would be totally epic.

Quickly deciding on the latter, she whipped out her cell phone and began to take video.

Kurt unceremoniously reached up and plucked Puck's hand off his shoulder by the wrist. Before either Puck or Santana could even blink, Kurt had maneuvered himself behind Puck, holding the offending appendage tightly against Puck's back. In the next moment, his other hand was on the back of Puck's neck, and he spun them around and slammed Puck over the nearest table, startling the couple that had been sitting there, happily enjoying their burritos.

"What the fuck?" cried a startled and horrified Puck.

Kurt bent over toward Puck's ear. "I want you to listen closely, Puckerman, because I don't enjoy repeating myself, although I understand it's one of the few methods capable of allowing you to learn."

Puck grunted and tried to vault himself off the table, his legs kicking uselessly behind him. He swallowed a groan when Kurt tightened his grasp.

"That wrist looks like it's about to go, Pucky," Santana chided. "I'd just nod my head if I were you."

"You've erred badly, Puckerman," Kurt said calmly. "Of course, bullies such as yourself often make this mistake, so sure they've correctly identified the weak member of the herd. I would advise you in the future not to underestimate your victims."

His grasp on Puck's wrist became inexplicably tighter and Puck was helpless but to release a howl of pain. His free arm hung uselessly at his side as the weight of Kurt's chest atop him made it all but impossible to escape.

"Just because I've never before defended myself against your assaults, you should by no means think me incapable of doing so."

"Then why haven't you?" Puck asked, choking.

"Because you're not worth it."

And Puck ceased fighting.

"I'm better than you, Puck, and you know it. If you yourself hadn't ensured that you're so worthy of my hatred, I would pity you. But you're despicable, and a coward, and a creep. You're an admitted whore. You used Santana for sex, never caring about her feelings. You used Quinn to punish Finn for having everything to which you believe you're entitled. And while I can't stand her, you used Rachel for god only knows what reason. You use women and bully men. The only way you can feel better about yourself is by hurting others, and that's pathetic."

Santana bit her lip. She found herself in a precarious situation. She was used to being the lioness, the one who defended herself and Brittany with no discernible difficulty, but this was entirely new. No one outside her immediate family had ever gone to bat for her the way Kurt Hummel just had.

And that he had subdued Puck so easily, so fucking _righteously_, was the hottest thing she thought she had ever seen.

Puck raised his eyes and noticed the couple at whose table he now found himself were staring at him with blatant disgust. It bothered him much more than it should have. He wished Hummel had just kicked him in the nuts, because it would have hurt a lot less than his words.

"I warned you when you mouthed off at Brittany, but it's apparent you didn't heed me," Kurt continued, voice steely and intractable. "You see, Puckerman, I might not stand up for myself, but I will always and without question stand up for my friends. You should learn to do the same, if you ever again have any.

"If I ever hear you say anything like that about Mercedes again, if you ever insult Santana in my presence, you and I are going to have a long overdue confrontation. And if you think I won't do everything in my power to make sure that you don't walk away from it without needing several stitches and a pair of crutches, you are sorely mistaken.

"Now, Santana and I are going to leave and enjoy the rest of our weekend together, because we have far better things to do. If you want to continue this at school on Monday, I am more than happy to comply. Meet me out front early in the morning. Text Santana with the time. Try and be a man and confront me on your own. Only cowards travel in packs."

With that, he released Puck, gingerly fixed his hair, straightened his clothes, and turned back to Santana. "Are you ready?"

His eyes widened as he took in her flushed face and heavy breathing, sweat dotting her brow.

"Er, Santana, did you just have…"

She flushed more deeply and nodded, closing her phone with a shaky hand.

He nodded uneasily before turning to haul Puck to his feet.

"Do you remember third grade?" Kurt softly asked the other boy before sighing. "I hate Puck, but sometimes I miss Noah. I really liked him." He swallowed heavily and drew Santana flush against him, escorting her outside.

Puck stared after them, desperately trying to convince himself that the pain he was feeling was only physical.

* * *

It took a concerted effort for Santana to climb into Kurt's SUV, her body still shaking in the wake of her climax.

Jesus, she'd had to fake with everyone but Brittany, and then Hummel just made her come without even touching her!

He needed to share this skill with others. There should be classes.

Kurt woodenly crossed to the driver's side, opened the door, and collapsed on his seat.

"I can't believe I just did that," he whispered. "Oh, god, he's going to kill me. I just signed my own death warrant."

"Calm down," Santana said gently. She looked in the side mirror and saw Puck slowly approach the truck. She lowered the window and waited for him to come close enough so that he could eavesdrop.

"Kurt, Puck's not going to do anything. You gave him a shot of truth that he likely won't be able to deal with. He's humiliated. Even if he wants to fight you again, I don't think you're going to have too difficult a time finishing it." Her brow furrowed. "By the way, where in the hell did you learn how to do that?"

His answering laugh was frankly horrifying, sounding like someone banging on a mistuned piano. "You know, I think my father always knew I was gay. He couldn't admit it, but he prepared for it. He wanted me to be able to defend myself." He looked at her. "I have a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do."

She stared at him.

"I know," he sighed. "Why don't I use it? Because I could really hurt someone, Santana. What I just did in there with Puck wasn't particularly difficult, and I also had the element of surprise. I got lucky and I know it. Otherwise it could have ended very differently."

"You didn't want to hurt him."

He shook his head. "Not really. While Puck is a douchebag of epic proportions, I wouldn't want to see him injured. I'm not a violent person, but I know there exists that potential within me, and that's scary. My discipline is more concerned with self-defense than offense, but my particular style is somewhat more eclectic than rote. I could cause serious harm. I choose not to."

She discreetly looked at the mirror once more, smirking when she noticed Puck was listening keenly, his jaws agape.

Kurt shrugged. "Besides, there's a world of difference between engaging one opponent and a gang of them. Could I take Karofsky? Probably, but I would also likely get hurt quite badly, and I'm not really a fan of that. The dumpster tosses are unpleasant, but I'm rarely injured in a severe way. I can deal with the slushies and, by now, have developed surefire cleaning methods for a variety of fabrics. If Karofsky ever tried to make good on his threats, though, yes, I would fight him."

She glowered. "You mean his threats to rape you?"

Again, she looked at the mirror.

Puck was horrified and looked ready to explode.

"Do Finn and Puck know about that?" she demanded of Kurt, who shook his head.

"No. Despite his swagger, Karofsky's a coward and he's scared of Finn and Puck, which is why he hates them, though he'll never admit it. If he wasn't, he would try to take advantage of their rift, but even he's not so stupid not to know that if he threatened Puck or Finn, the other would come to their defense. Puck and Finn have been best friends for as long as I can remember. I'm sure they will be again."

"Why do you care?"

He shrugged again. "Everyone should have friends." He smiled at her. "I know I'm lucky to count you as one of mine."

She curled a lip and stared straight ahead. "Back off."

He smirked and patted her knee. "Okay."

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"That was hot, no matter which way you slice it," she finally said. "You owned his ass."

He snickered.

She turned and regarded him. "Would you like to?"

He gave an exaggerated blink. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm asking whether or not you'd want Puck to fuck you."

He raised a brow. "What makes you think I'd be the bottom, Santana?"

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

"Well, aren't you're just full of surprises?" she asked after a moment.

"Always keep them guessing. That's my motto."

She snorted. "Apparently."

"Do you really want my answer to your question?"

She eyed him. "Hell yes."

He laughed. "I was wondering when we'd get to the sex portion of this new alliance. Honestly, I thought it would have occurred sooner."

She shrugged. "Always leave them wanting more. That's _my_ motto."

He laughed harder. "Touché." He took a few seconds to compose himself. "Yes, I would like to have sex with Puck. Would I, if given the chance? No, but I enjoy fantasizing about it."

She shivered with delight. "Tell me."

He raised a brow and considered her request. Finally, he shrugged. "Very well. Quite simply, Noah Puckerman is rather fantastically put together. You've slept with him. You know the boy is impossibly beautiful. He's like liquid sex."

She glanced at the mirror once more and almost burst out laughing when she saw Puck's hand disappear down the front of his jeans. Puck was a sexual creature; she didn't imagine he would say no to getting off, no matter with whom. It just depended on the circumstances.

"His body is amazing," Kurt continued, his voice deep and husky. "I'd love to get my hands and mouth on it, trailing kisses down his broad chest, my hands palming his nipples, before I begin biting and sucking them gently."

"Jesus, Hummel," she whispered. She closed her eyes.

"I want to take him on one of the benches in the locker room. I want those hazel eyes fixed only on me, the pupils blown wide with lust until they eclipse the irises. I want to see all of that beautiful skin flush before me, strong thighs splayed as I lower myself to my knees, his cock hard and aching, slapping against that incredible stomach, dripping fluid and just waiting for me to take him into my mouth."

Her breath quickened. She noticed Puck was inching closer.

"I want bury my cock deeply inside of him, his ankles on my shoulders, my hands gripping his hips so hard that I leave bruises in the shape of my fingerprints, so that when he sees them later, he'll know that he's mine. So that anyone else who might see him will know he's off-limits."

"You want him to be your bitch?"

Kurt frowned. "No, not really. This is all just a fantasy, mind, and it really doesn't have anything to do with Puck in particular. He's an ideal for many reasons, though one I know I'll never attain." He looked away and released a gentle sigh. "I guess I just want to be wanted."

She nodded. She could appreciate that.

His cold demeanor reasserted itself and he scoffed. "And you well know that pickings at McKinley High are fairly slim. I would imagine that the majority of our class, and probably the others, fantasize about Puck. The problem is that he knows it and exploits it. Nothing is more repugnant to me than that brand of arrogance.

"So, do I want to fuck Puck? Sure. Who doesn't, despite what they know about him? When I bring myself off, do I sometimes imagine my fist is his ass? I'm willing to concede that, yes, I do. Do I think about having him in my mouth? Often. Usually while I'm eating a banana. But it's never going to happen. I wouldn't want it to."

Santana wasn't so sure about that.

At all.

Especially as Puck was now leaning against the brick wall of Taco Bell, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight as they bit down hard on his lower lip, his hand busily engaged in, well, it was obvious. She wondered just how much work it would take to get Puck into Kurt's bed. Probably not much, she thought. And she was going to make it happen.

"Christ, Hummel, you need to start writing porn. I think you missed your calling."

He laughed.

She paused to note that even his laugh was musical. It was annoying.

She inched closer to him. "You know," she said casually, "if you were straight, I would keep you chained and locked in my bedroom."

He smirked and leaned over into her face. "Oh, honey, if I were straight, what makes you think I'd let you up off my cock long enough to lock the door?"

They stared at each other, chests heaving with shallow breaths. At once, they pulled away from one another and stared out the windshield.

"Well," he said finally, "that was unexpected." He cleared his throat. "Sorry I used hooker words."

"Feel free to make further use of them," she said, struggling for calm.

He started the car and put it into gear, pulling away quickly.

Puck stared after them, his pants and hand covered in come.

After several miles, Santana regained control over herself and turned to Kurt. "What if they're still watching that sacrilege when we get back?"

He shrugged. "Then you and I will boot up my laptop and watch some gay porn."

"Oh, thank god."


	6. Your Arms Are My Castle

Kurt and Santana arrived at the Hummel homestead at the same time as Burt, who waved to them as he crossed to the back of his truck and began unloading boxes from the cab. Kurt frowned and exited his car.

"Dad? What's going on?" Kurt asked. Santana was soon at his side.

"Went to see your Aunt Judy," was the short reply.

Kurt's eyes widened. "And how did that go?"

Burt shrugged. "It was fine. Wanted to get the rest of Quinnie's things, those not at the Punk's house."

Kurt and Santana exchanged a glance, brows raised.

"Was Uncle Rusty there?" asked Kurt.

Burt chuckled. "He always hated when you called him that."

Kurt nodded. "Which is precisely why I did."

Burt laughed harder. "Good boy. And to answer your question, no, he wasn't home."

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. At Santana's questioning gaze, he leaned over. "They're like oil and water. After a rig explosion."

She nodded. "I can totally see that. Did you get along with him?"

He cocked his head. "Surprisingly, yes, and I was very close with Aunt Judy. For a while, it was as though Quinn and I had switched parents." He stared off sightlessly into the distance. "Thenhen Mom got sick."

She took his hand in hers, even as she cursed herself for doing so. What was it about this kid that made her so emotionally vulnerable? It was getting ridiculous and she kept telling herself that she didn't like it, because she was sure eventually she would come to believe it.

"Need some help?" Kurt called to his father.

"Sure, son. I'd appreciate it."

He nodded and handed the carryout to Santana. "Would you mind delivering this to the hungry vipers within? Here are the keys."

She murmured her acquiescence and headed for the house.

* * *

"What took so long?" Quinn immediately demanded. "I'm hungry."

"Where's Kurt?" Mercedes barked.

Santana rolled her eyes and thrust Quinn's bag at her. "Here's your mid-evening snack, my liege. Try not to wolf it down in less time than it took to make it."

Quinn scowled and dove in.

Santana turned to Mercedes. "Kurt is upstairs with Uncle Burt."

"You can't call him that!" Quinn howled, her mouth unattractively full.

Santana raised arched an eyebrow. "Who's going to stop me? You?"

Quinn curled a lip and bit further into the taco, moaning with pleasure.

Santana grinned. "In fact, let's all call him Uncle Burt. I want to see how he'll react."

Mercedes gave her the side eye. "You enjoy poking bears with sticks?"

Santana scoffed. "The man is awesome and is the perfect surrogate father. Kurt's definitely amazing, but can't you just see Uncle Burt with a bunch of daughters? That totally should have happened."

Quinn's eyes suddenly became haunted and she ducked her head before anyone could notice.

"We're going to be here all weekend," Santana continued, shrugging, "so we'll be on our best behavior to show that he can trust us." She looked around. "I further suggest that we make this our unofficial headquarters for all future endeavors." She sighed happily. "Just think, we get parental supervision while, at the same time, we're able to ignore all of those people we can't stand who are constantly demanding our attention."

"No one calls me anymore," Quinn said softly. "My own family wants nothing to do with me."

Mercedes made soft clucking noises and pulled Quinn tightly against her. "It's all good, baby girl. You're here now, with family who loves you, and that includes all of us."

Brittany murmured her agreement.

Quinn smiled sadly and nodded her head.

Santana pursed her lips. Apparently some bonding had occurred while she and Kurt were away menacing Puck. She mentally shrugged, guessing it made sense. Brittany had always liked Quinn, and if anything could make Quinn and Mercedes get along, it would be their shared concern for Kurt. Still, she wondered how long it would take until they were clawing each other's eyes out over which one knew him better and, therefore, knew what was best for him. She rolled her eyes.

"Uncle Burt went to see your mom, Quinn," Santana said carefully. "He wanted to get the rest of your stuff."

"He's so sweet," Quinn sobbed. At the alarmed look the others gave her, she dried her eyes with one hand and held her taco tightly in the other. "Just ignore me. It's the hormones."

"Sounds rough," Mercedes commiserated. "Is it like PMS?"

Quinn shook her head. "Much worse. And it's all day, every day, for almost two years."

"Two years!" Santana bellowed.

Quinn nodded, her eyes darkening. "Do you know they lie to us? Pregnancy actually lasts closer to ten months than nine, and then it takes almost a year after the delivery for your hormones to even out."

"Well, that settles it," Santana huffed. "I'm never having children."

"And the world heaves a collective sigh of relief," Quinn volleyed, smirking.

"How would you like to wear that taco?"

"Don't you touch my taco!"

"Well, _there's_ a euphemism I've never heard. Too bad you didn't use it with Puck. If you had, maybe you wouldn't now be eating for yourself and the Alien you're gestating."

"Both of you shut up," Brittany snapped. "This is Kurt's house, and he doesn't like fighting. Neither do I."

Quinn and Santana fell silent but eyed each other warily. They knew this was only the beginning. Their statuses as alpha girls all but demanded attacking one another whenever possible, and usually they enjoyed it, but they would rein it in for the sake of the others.

Mercedes was horrified, still stuck on the unwelcome bit of news Quinn had imparted. "Two years." She shook her head. "This is our mothers' ultimate revenge."

"No, it's God's," Brittany countered. "Only a man could conceive so great an evil."

Quinn and Mercedes stared at her, while Santana looked inordinately proud.

"Santana, where are we going to sleep?" Brittany asked.

"Well, I offered to share Kurt's bed…"

"What!" Mercedes and Quinn exploded.

Santana smothered her grin. This was all too easy. "But he regretfully declined," she continued. "He told me I'd be sleeping in one of the guest rooms."

Quinn nodded. "There are three upstairs."

They eyed one another.

Brittany sniffled. "But I want to stay with Kurt."

"And I stay with Brittany," Santana happily chirped.

Mercedes and Quinn glowered at her before turning toward each other.

Again, barely Santana refrained from malicious laughter. They were actually _afraid_ to leave her alone with Kurt! Oh, how perfectly delicious. What did they think was going to happen? Her eyes then glazed as she thought back to their Taco Bell Adventure. If Hummel could cause that reaction without even _touching_ her…

She shook her head, snapped out of her Happy Naughty Place, and took out her cell phone. "Gather round, girls. You'll _definitely_ want to see this."

* * *

Once safely ensconced in his bedroom, Puck felt unencumbered and, angrily kicking off his shoes, began to freak out in the privacy of his own home. Surprisingly, it wasn't the fact that he had brought himself off by listening to another dude describe in detail what he'd like to do to Puck's rather amazing body causing said freak-out.

Sure, it was a little unsettling that he might _possibly_ be interested in cock, or at least interested in how much he appealed to guys, but he wasn't too bothered. After all, sex was sex, and he was a sex shark. The bottom line was that he was a fine piece of ass, so it only made sense that his awesomeness made even other dudes want a taste. Hell, there were guys at school who he _knew_ weren't gay but had nonetheless checked him out in the locker room.

He had to face facts: he was just that hot.

It was his duty as a stud to accept this burden. After all, everyone had their crosses to bear.

So maybe, just _maybe_, it was possible that he was curious, too, but it didn't really _mean_ anything because he had never experienced any desire to act on it. Other than wondering how two dudes got down, gay sex had never registered on his radar. Sure, intellectually he understood that people could be attracted to the same gender – and, hey, he was all about hot lesbians – but never had he been interested in closely examining some other guy's junk. He still wasn't, so definitely not gay.

Right. Sexual identity crisis averted, he decided it best to concentrate on what was truly bothering him.

What pissed him off was that he had stroked his dick while thinking of _Hummel_.

That just didn't compute.

He really couldn't have given a shit that Hummel was into other boys. Different strokes, and all. What was really annoying was the sense of superiority Hummel donned like it was just another of his ridiculous designer shirts. The kid's arrogance, his sheer unmitigated _gall_, was disgusting. Just who the hell did Hummel think he was, acting like he was better than everybody else?

It was only right to torture him.

Well, it _had_ been.

Regrettably, the more he had come know Hummel over the past few months, which was still hardly at all really, the more Puck understood that maybe Hummel's arrogance might possibly be deserved. Hummel was in all kinds of advanced classes and had perfect grades. Normally, Puck just would have dismissed the other boy as yet another nerd but, from what he had observed, Hummel didn't actually _try_ to get good grades; he just got them.

That was irritating.

Despite what most people believed, Noah Puckerman was no dummy. His grades were decent, and could have been a lot better were he willing to expend any effort at all on improving them. He did the minimal amount of work to ensure an average high enough to keep him on the team, and that was it.

It just really pissed him off that Hummel could flounce into a classroom and, without even cracking open a book, perfectly ace a test. It was humiliating.

Not that Puck didn't know other kids who couldn't do the same thing. In fact, most of them were also in Glee Club: Rachel, Quinn, Santana, Artie, and Mike. He had figured it was probably some female or Asian thing, but then how did that explain Artie and Hummel? Did being handicapable automatically make you smart? Did sucking cock? He was pretty sure that Hummel had never sucked cock, though.

Then he remembered Hummel had admitted wishing his mouth had a shot at Puckzilla. He remembered his cock getting hard at just the thought of it.

Goddamn it. This was some _not right_ shit.

He _hated_ Hummel.

Well, okay, maybe hate was too strong a word. He didn't know Hummel well enough to hate him, and hatred required a lot of energy which he wasn't willing to waste on someone like Hummel. But he sure as hell didn't _like _Hummel.

He didn't like that Hummel had sashayed onto the field to fucking _audition_ to be the kicker and blown them all away, no homo pun intended. The team hadn't won a game in fuck knows when, until the living embodiment of Pinocchio had kicked the ball dead center through _the big tuning fork_ at the end of the field. Effortlessly.

That little bitch.

Puck sighed, collapsed on his bed, and stared angrily at the ceiling.

How pathetic had he become, sitting at home alone on a Friday night and contemplating the gay kid? Just how low had he fallen?

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Since his mom and sister were out doing some Jew thing, he thought it was the perfect opportunity to kick back with some porn and take matters in hand. Sex was totally awesome, and though this dry spell was annoying, he knew how to get himself off better than anyone else. He opened up his internal porn file and summoned up images of Quinn, but that failed to produce the desired results. Having your baby mama royally pissed at you for fucking up her life was a real boner-killer.

Shoving thoughts of Quinn aside, he decided to focus instead on Santana. Ten seconds in, he was horrified to realize that Hummel had the audacity to insert himself in that particular line of inquiry, taking the place of Brittany, in some kind of really fucked-up threesome.

Shit! Would all future thoughts of Lopez and her nimble tongue now be inundated with the legacy of Hummel's perverted locker room talk? Because if that were the case, someone had to pay for ruining his best go-to fantasy.

His eyes abruptly snapped open.

Hummel had made Santana come without even touching her, just by being a badass.

Puck himself had never accomplished that feat, and that rankled.

And what right did Hummel have to be some sort of secret fairy ninja? Asshole.

Could Santana actually be _attracted_ to Hummel?

Well, if Puck were being honest and, since he was alone, he didn't see the point in being otherwise, Hummel wasn't ugly, and that ass was almost gravity-defying.

Oh, fuck. He was getting hard again.

"Goddamn it!"

* * *

Kurt artfully arranged the last of the boxes in what would now be considered Quinn's bedroom. He looked around in confusion, trying to understand the sudden and decidedly unwelcome anxiety he was experiencing.

"I know it's hard," Burt said softly. "It looks like when you and I packed up Mom's things."

Kurt inhaled sharply as his eyes watered. He would never get over it, he then knew. He could accept that his mother was dead, and one of her final parting gifts to him was that he was unable to live in denial for any length of time. He wasn't sure if he hated her for that or if he loved her all the more.

He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat, refusing to surrender to his maudlin thoughts. He had guests downstairs and he was physically incapable of being a bad host.

"What did Aunt Judy have to say?"

Burt scratched his head. "She misses Quinnie. You know this whole thing wasn't her idea."

Kurt nodded, but wasn't willing to let the woman off the hook quite so easily. "Yes, but she has a voice; she has a will. She could have said something. It's her house, too, and Quinn is her daughter. There's no good excuse."

And while he believed his words, it pained him to say them. He loved Judy, he always had, but he also knew that she took her marriage vow to obey far too religiously. He figured one day she would snap and Uncle Russell would find his gonads on the wrong side of a rusty blade.

Burt nodded absently. "She's a good woman, Judy is, but she has always caved to that man when times get hard." He sighed. "Your mother and I never understood it, but we tried to support her. It wasn't easy."

"I remember her at the funeral," Kurt whispered. "It was like a part of her died with Mom."

"Because it did," Burt said quietly. "Think about how much you love Quinn and Mercedes. Now add almost twenty years of love on top of that. And then imagine it being snatched from you."

Kurt winced and turned away, and before he could speak, he found himself on the receiving end of one his father's rare embraces.

"I'm sorry, son," Burt said gruffly, kissing the top of Kurt's head. "That was out of line. I know how much you lost when your mother died. I shouldn't have made that comparison."

"It's fine," Kurt lied. "I know what you were trying to say."

Burt smiled sadly. "How could you, when I didn't even know?" He sighed. "Judy lost her best friend, your Aunt Camille lost her sister, and I lost my wife. But you lost your mother."

Kurt buried his face in his father's chest and shook his head furiously. "You lost the woman you married. You had twice as many years with her as I did. Don't make less of your pain to soothe my own. It's not fair to you, and it really doesn't work anyway."

Once again, Burt Hummel was reminded that his child was extraordinary in every way that mattered.

* * *

In the basement, the girls were crowded around Santana's stylish, if regrettably small, cell phone.

"Holy shit," Mercedes breathed.

Quinn looked entirely too smug. She had been wondering for years just how far Kurt could be pushed before he struck back. That he had done so in defense of his best friend wasn't surprising; that it had been against Puck was just gravy.

Brittany frowned. "You know, Puck's kind of an asshole."

The others nodded.

"I can't believe he did that for me," Mercedes whispered, pride and regret plain on her face.

Quinn grabbed her hand. "That's just who Kurt is, Mercedes. He's the best friend you could ever hope to have. When he loves, it's for life, and it fills every part of your being."

Mercedes nodded, somewhat sadly. She knew Kurt could never give her what she really desired, but this was good, too. And she wasn't even upset that she now had to share him with these others, because Kurt was simply too much of a force of nature to be tied to only one person. Besides, he had a history with Quinn which shouldn't be discounted. She saw how patient and kind he was with Brittany, and it warmed her.

As for Santana, tonight made plain that Kurt was freer with her than he was with the others. She appealed to something within him, something he tried to repress so that he would be what he perceived as a better person, but Mercedes thought that was a bunch of crap. Santana could match Kurt's inner bitch stroke for stroke, and it was as exhilarating to witness as it was frightening.

What truly bothered her about Kurt and Santana, however, was that their chemistry had a definite sexual bent. She didn't care for that at all, but she'd put it aside. For now.

"We're going to protect him," she said, "like he would protect us. It doesn't even occur to him to defend himself, so we'll do it for him."

It wasn't a question, but a proclamation.

The others nodded.

Brittany played back the video just prior to its ending. "Santana, did you really come?"

The other girl raised an eyebrow. "He was amazing." She narrowed her eyes. "I wonder how much he's packing." She poked out her tongue. "Judging from the fit of his jeans, I'm betting on a lot."

Quinn immediately dismissed that as Way Too Much Information to Process. "What happened after?"

Santana lowered her gaze. "I don't think I should tell you. I don't know if Kurt would want me to."

Quinn noticed the way Santana was wringing her hands and picking at her cuticles. Whatever it was, she probably _didn't_ want to know, and she respected Santana for keeping Kurt's confidence.

"Let me guess," Mercedes drawled, "he told you how much he wants to fuck Puck."

Santana's eyed widened to the size of saucers and she nodded dumbly.

Brittany shrugged. "Everyone wants to do that."

Santana nodded again. "That's what Kurt said."

Quinn didn't even know how to _begin_ to deal with that, so she decided she'd unpack it later. She knew she would eventually have to determine her feelings for Puck, but she wasn't near ready. She didn't believe that she loved him, but they had been friends for many years. She knew she was wrong for cutting him out of the pregnancy. If she did decide to put the baby up for adoption, she would regret not giving Puck this time with their child.

The guilt weighed heavily on her mind. Still, it was all she could to stomach being in the same room with him during Glee rehearsals. Besides, it certainly wasn't as though he was pining for her. There had been all of the lascivious text messages with Santana, as well as whatever had happened with, of all people, Rachel Berry.

Santana eyed Mercedes curiously. "What about Hudson? I thought he was Hummel's epic lurve."

Mercedes rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Girl, don't even get me started on that one. Even if Finn were gay, he'd be the last person I'd want with my boy."

Quinn suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to defend Finn and had no idea why.

"Besides," Mercedes continued, smirking, "it's kind of hard to imagine Finn Hudson in any kind of sexual situation." She again rolled her eyes. "I mean, sure, he's hot and all for a white boy, and his body is tight, but he's like a big puppy. I think that, if anything, Kurt wants to mother him more than he wants to sleep with him."

And Quinn Fabray had an A-Ha moment. Oprah would be so proud. Not that Quinn would admit to watching Oprah. Not to anyone. _Ever._

Mercedes was only half-right, she decided. Kurt wanted Finn not just because he loved him – and she believed that Kurt did indeed love Finn on some level – but because he knew he could never have him. As long as Finn couldn't return his feelings, Kurt could cocoon himself away from the rest of the world, safe from the possibility that he might actually find a boy who could love him back and all that would entail.

Well. That wouldn't do.

* * *

As Brittany fought her way into her nightgown with Santana's assistance, Quinn seized the opportunity and cornered Mercedes.

"We have to do something about this Finn situation."

Mercedes gave her a measured look, heavily laced with suspicion.

Quinn shook her head. "I'm not jealous, honestly. I don't want to be with Finn anymore." She frowned. "In fact, lately I've been wondering if I ever wanted to be with him, or if I just convinced myself that I should be." She heaved a small sigh of relief when she noticed Mercedes thaw somewhat. "We both know that the longer we allow Kurt's crush to linger, the more likely he is to be hurt, and neither of us wants that."

Mercedes nodded carefully. "I've tried," she whispered, her eyes now pained. "I've tried so hard to make him realize that it's pointless, but he just won't listen to me."

"I know," Quinn said softly, "and I think I might actually be able to get through to him. I just want to make sure that you're okay with it."

Mercedes stiffened. "And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"It means that I respect your friendship with him, and I don't want to step all over it." Quinn narrowed her eyes and squared her shoulders. "I like you, Mercedes. I like you a lot. But I'm not going to engage in some pathetic competition with you over Kurt's affection. I know you don't trust me with him, and I can't blame you for that, but I'm here, I love him, and I'm not going anywhere ever again. So suck it up and deal with it."

Mercedes blinked and was lost for words, an experience entirely alien and unwelcome.

"I'm going to be living here," Quinn continued, "which means I'll probably be spending more time with him than you will, and I know you're most likely furious about that, for which I don't blame you. I'm willing to concede a lot to you because you're his best friend and I owe him. But don't for one second think that I will allow you to dictate the terms of my friendship with him. That's his decision, and his alone. I want to make it clear that I will not, in any way, be interfering with your relationship with him. I just ask that you do the same."

Mercedes flushed. Obviously, Quinn had paying more careful attention than she had considered. Of course she was jealous. She was appalled that Kurt was moving Quinn into his house. But she could no longer comfortably stereotype Quinn Fabray as she once had. The girl had guts, determination, a smart mouth, and a sincere concern for Kurt. She couldn't ignore those things, and she really didn't want to.

She sighed and sat down on the bed, pulling Quinn with her. "It's so hard," she whispered, "watching him do this to himself." She shook her head. "And what really gets me is that I think he knows it's doomed, but he refuses to acknowledge it. I like Finn, he's a good boy, but you know what really scares me?"

Quinn's eyes searched the other girl's. "What?"

"I don't think Kurt would have to push very far."

Quinn stared.

"At the next rehearsal, keep your eyes on Finn," Mercedes murmured. "Watch him when he's around Kurt. He stares at Kurt way too long, and way too often, and only stops when I glare at him. I don't think he even knows he's doing it, or why."

Quinn's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

Mercedes nodded. "There's genuine affection there on Finn's part. He truly does like Kurt. What bothers me is that Finn is aware, even if only subconsciously, of how much Kurt likes him. That Kurt would do anything for him." She raised a brow. "Anything."

Quinn paled.

"I'm not saying Finn would hurt him deliberately," Mercedes continued, "but he basically walks through life like he's totally unconscious. Right now, Kurt's his only friend, and he knows Kurt wants more. He feels abandoned, alone, and that everyone is against him."

"Everyone but Kurt," Quinn muttered.

Mercedes nodded. "And let's say Kurt successfully pushed past Finn's gay panic. What then?" She shook her head. "You and I both know that Finn cares far too much about what other people think of him. Even if he somehow managed to allow himself to love Kurt back, where do you think it would go? Finn would never acknowledge him in public, and Kurt needs that validation. He felt his sexuality was his dirty little secret for far too long; he's not about to let anyone, not even Finn, push him back into a closet."

"And he's right to feel that way," Quinn said. She exhaled. "This isn't good."

"Right? If this is allowed to continue, at the very least Kurt's heart will be broken. At the worst, both of them will be devastated." She stared down at her hands. "Look, I know what people think of me: that I boss Kurt around, make him do what I say." She shook her head. "It's not true. But I worry about him all the time, because as strong as he is, there's going to come a point when he'll just be too tired to fight anymore, and when that happens, I want him to have a boy who will fight for him. That's not Finn."

Quinn frowned. "I sincerely believe you've underestimated Finn, but I understand your point." She leaned over and placed her head on the other girl's shoulder. "So until we find Kurt the right guy, how about if we worry over him together?"

Mercedes smiled and wrapped an arm around Quinn's shoulders. "I think I'd like that."

* * *

Brittany was having a lot of thinky thoughts and wasn't sure she liked it.

She liked Kurt, and she liked that Santana liked him too.

She also liked Quinn, and was glad that they were friends again.

She was kind of scared of Mercedes, but that was okay, because everyone was scared of Mercedes. Even Santana! Although Santana would never admit it. That was okay, too. Brittany was good at keeping secrets.

She was sort of mad at Puck, because Puck had slept with Quinn while Quinn was dating Finn. That was wrong and mean. Brittany had always thought that Puck liked Finn best, but now she wondered if Puck liked anyone at all. The thought that he might not made her sad.

She was also mad at Puck because he never realized how much Santana had liked him. Of course, it was good that he never had, or had ignored it, because now Santana was with her for keeps. Or at least until the end of the school year.

She didn't like that Santana, Kurt, Mercedes, and Quinn didn't like Rachel.

She herself kind of liked Rachel. Rachel tried real hard, and Brittany thought that should count for something.

Still, Rachel didn't try very hard with anyone in Glee except for Finn. Yes, Kurt was mean to Rachel, but she was mean back. Actually, she had been mean first. She always was.

Even when she didn't really know Rachel, she remembered Rachel always talking about Kurt and saying mean things, like how he shouldn't be in Glee. But Kurt had a really good voice, Brittany thought, better than most of the people in the club, so she didn't understand why Rachel had a problem with that. The more people who sounded good, the better they would sound as a group, right?

And while Rachel was nice enough to her, Rachel also treated her like she was dumb or something, or like Santana bossed her around and told her what to do and say, which wasn't true at all. Santana always encouraged her to make her own decisions. In fact, Santana was the only one to do so.

She also thought Mercedes' voice was way better than Rachel's, but that could be because she didn't really like Broadway, and she and Mercedes had the same taste in music. So, okay, maybe she was a little biased there.

Still, as glad as she was to have Quinn back and to be allied with Kurt and Mercedes, she wasn't going to allow them to do anything bad to Rachel. If they wanted to challenge her or defend themselves, that was okay, but nothing more than that. Because if they were mean just for the sake of it, then everything Rachel had ever said about them would be true, and Brittany just wouldn't have that.

She nodded to herself and tuned back in to what Santana was whispering to her.

She blinked. Hook Kurt up with Puck? She almost laughed. There was no way that would ever work. After all, Kurt liked Finn. He hated Puck.

A better idea would be to get Mike to ask Kurt out, because she was really getting tired of him whining to her about his crush on Kurt during their dance classes.

* * *

Puck lathered himself up in the shower, disbelieving that he had brought himself off _twice_ in one night by thinking about Kurt fucking Hummel.

He especially couldn't believe the power of the orgasm that ripped through him the second time, leaving him a quivering, sweating mess on the bathroom floor.

He kind of felt guilty for thinking of Hummel while jacking off, like he was using him or something, but since Hummel had started it, he decided there was nothing to feel bad about. Besides, there were no pictures, so no one could prove it had ever happened.

He sighed contentedly as the tepid water sluiced over his body.

He knew Santana had watched him whack off in the alley, but was guessing she wouldn't say anything about it to Hummel or anyone else, except possibly Brittany. But the awesome thing about Brittany was that she knew when to keep her mouth shut and when to open it really, really wide.

He smirked.

He went over again in his mind the conversation he had overheard between Santana and Hummel. He couldn't deny that he was majorly pissed at Karofsky. Aside from the fact that Hummel was a fellow gleek and that the club actually did kind of need him, the idea of some asshole just casually threatening to rape anybody was disgusting, not the least of which was because it reinforced every fearful thought he'd ever had of his little sister having to deal with horny boys.

And what kind of loser beta male said shit like Karofsky had said to Hummel? It was lame and pathetic. Of course, Karofsky was both those things and always had been.

Puck figured he should do something about it, but he wasn't sure what. It wasn't like he could show up to school on Monday and demand people stopped picking on Hummel. For one thing, he still believed Hummel should be made fun of on a regular basis; for another, what the fuck would people say if the Puckasaurus suddenly started taking up for Kurt Hummel?

Well, he _knew_ what people would say. That was the problem.

He might think about Hummel on his knees just for shits and giggles, but he sure as hell didn't want anyone else insinuating that he was warm for Hummel's homo form.

So he couldn't do anything directly, but he might be able to jump on the bandwagon, so to speak, especially if it was in support of someone who was already on record about demanding Hummel be left alone.

Someone like Finn Hudson.

He smirked again.


	7. I Never Knew

Santana decided to take advantage of Kurt's temporary absence and interrogate Quinn and Mercedes. She knew they were supposed to cement this alliance by _bonding_ or whatever, but, seriously, watching them giggle and whisper to each other like idiots was giving her hives. As Brittany was currently fascinated by her own toes, now seemed like a good time.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded. "Tink and I get back from kicking hot Jew ass and you two are acting like Siamese twins joined at the chocha."

"You're revolting," Quinn sniffed.

"Tink?" Mercedes repeated, eyebrows hovering at her hairline. "Do I need to cut you?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Spare me. Tink and I decided to follow Brittany's advice and establish aliases. You never know when you'll only be allowed one phone call, and if you're calling your fake alibi to get your stories straight and the cops figure out who it is, it kind of defeats the purpose."

Quinn and Mercedes stared at her and then turned to stare at each other.

"What's Kurt's nickname for you?" Brittany asked.

Santana smirked. "Daughter of Perdition."

Quinn and Mercedes burst out laughing.

"If the shoe fits…" the former said.

"And my boy sure knows how to wear the hell out of a pair of shoes," the latter finished.

They cackled.

Santana shrugged. "Cackle all you want, hens. The bottom line is that I need to know that you both are in this for all of us, not just Kurt. Because if we can't hold it down together, the school will rip us apart. Sylvester will certainly try. It's bad enough that Brit and I are in Glee; we're also under strict orders not to associate with Q any more than is necessary."

Quinn paled. "She told you that?"

Santana quirked a brow. "This surprises you?"

"Someone needs to kick that heifer in the crotch bone," Mercedes seethed.

Quinn cocked her head and stared at Santana. "So why are you here now?"

The other girl glared. "Excuse me? This was _my_ idea. You're only here because of me, so you need to get over yourself, because I got over you a long time ago. You're not the Cheerio in Charge anymore, so you can't threaten to throw Brittany off the squad to keep me in line."

Quinn flushed hotly.

"You really did that?" Mercedes whispered.

Quinn nodded and looked away.

"Damn."

"Sanny, I thought you liked Quinn," Brittany said.

Santana shrugged again. "I like her just fine as long as I know what to expect from her, and usually that's terrifying Berry and browbeating Finn. I'm okay with those things, but _this_ Quinn, the one who cries and giggles and lets Tink paint her nails is creeping me out in a major way."

Quinn gave her a measured look, her eyes searching, before she gasped. "Oh, my god! This isn't about me at all, is it? This is about _Kurt_."

"I don't what you're talking about."

"Bullshit," Quinn hissed, standing up with the help of Mercedes and advancing. She shook her head slightly. "I can't believe I didn't see it earlier. You ___like_ him, don't you? You like him as a person, you respect him. You actually _care_."

Santana didn't see the point of denying it any longer. "So?"

Quinn's eyes widened. "I need to sit back down."

Mercedes snorted. "Girl, I think I need to _lie_ down." She flashed back to her earlier conversation with Kurt. She could accept that Kurt liked Santana, but to know that appreciation was so wholeheartedly returned was a little overwhelming.

"You don't need to protect Kurt from me, San," Quinn said softly. "I won't ever hurt him again, and Mercedes has already sworn vengeance on me if I do."

Santana shrugged, her belligerence increasing. "Don't care. Aretha barks a lot harder than she bites, and Tink has some control over her. But you know me, Q, so let's just put it all out there. You hurt Kurt again and you'll be dealing with me in ways you couldn't even begin to imagine."

Mercedes did not appreciate being spoken of as if she wasn't even in the damn room. The only reason she hadn't already busted a cap in Santana's narrow ass was because the girl was a little bit terrifying at the moment. While she thought she might be able to take her in a fight, she also believed that Santana was the kind of chick who could pull all sorts of secret hood-rat shit and never get caught. And she might have respected the bitch just a little bit for being so defensive of Kurt.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "Message received, Satan, so let's cut to the chase, shall we? Because I'm fairly certain that all of this is more about _you_ and Kurt than it is me and Kurt. So before Mercedes and I tell you everything we discussed, you tell us just what the hell happened between the two of you tonight."

* * *

Mercedes watched Quinn and Santana engage in their silent epic war and rolled her eyes. She didn't have time for this bullshit and, at this point, she was ready to deck both of them before Kurt returned from whatever the hell he was doing upstairs. It was time to put an end to this quickfast.

"Y'all need to knock this shit off, because I am seriously not the one. If this thing is really going to work, it needs more than my boy to hold it together. And let me tell you both something right now: if your stupid tug-of-war upsets my baby in any way, then both you bitches will find out the hard way just how sharp my teeth are, dig?"

Quinn nodded sharply and Santana grunted.

Brittany threw her arms around Mercedes. "You're a mama lion! But not like Sarabi. She totally should have kicked Scar's ass." She pulled back and stared into Mercedes' eyes. "Hey, do you ever think that, despite the way Disney princesses are marketed as figures of female empowerment, they're often too dependent on their male counterparts to validate them? Well, except Mulan; she was awesome. Does Tina know her? Can she get me an autograph?"

Mercedes chuckled and stroked the girl's hair. "Baby, I think the smartest thing Disney could ever do would be to make a princess movie about your crazy ass, because I'm pretty damned sure that you're the wisest of us all."

Brittany applauded. "And you can be my lady lion friend! And Santana will be my Prince Charming and Quinn will be a good witch in a pretty pink dress! Uncle Burt will be a bear who cuddles us close and eats meanies, and Kurt will be my glittery dolphin who gives me rides in the ocean and saves people from stupid Sex Shark Puck!"

Quinn was nodding slowly, her smile growing with every second.

Santana smirked. "Now _that's_ entertainment."

* * *

"Okay, so you pretty much made point," Santana said to Mercedes. "If this whole thing is going to work, Tink can't be the only thing on which we agree. We can't hang it all on him; he doesn't need that kind of pressure."

Mercedes nodded and Quinn frowned.

"Why won't you just tell us what you and Kurt talked about?" the latter demanded.

"Why is it your business?" Santana immediately countered. She and Kurt had talked about a lot of stuff tonight, and she wasn't eager to share any of it. She still wanted to slap him around about those damn pills, and she was pretty sure there was a lot he hadn't told her about why he had done it.

First of all, she couldn't imagine him doing that to Uncle Burt, so Kurt must have been really desperate for some reason; second, she seriously doubted that reason was his sexuality. From what she had observed the past several years, and considering the rather extraordinary circumstances of this seemingly endless night, Kurt was in no way ashamed of his gayness; it was a part of him, certainly, but it didn't define him. He enjoyed being gay; it was how he was unfairly judged because of it that bothered him. It must have been something else that had driven him to such action. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what that was.

So she felt no responsibility to share with the others what he had told her, and she felt no guilt about keeping it to herself.

Mercedes was staring at her and managed to glean that whatever Santana was hiding was for Kurt's own benefit, and as curious and as somewhat hurt as she was that he had confided in Santana and not her, she respected him too much to force the issue. Part of being a best friend was allowing your friend their secrets. There were some things she simply didn't need to know.

"We're moving on," she announced, much to Quinn's displeasure, who seemed ready to argue. Mercedes put her foot down. "Moving. On," she seethed.

Quinn nodded uneasily. She knew when to throw in the towel and decided to change subjects. "I had no idea that Kurt and Brittany were so close, or for how long."

Mercedes nodded as Brittany blanched. She should have guessed the others wouldn't let that go. She never should have said anything. So stupid.

Santana cocked her head and stared at Quinn. "Say what?"

"Four years, right, baby?" Mercedes said to Brittany, who nodded once but remained silent.

Alarm bells went off in Santana's head but she made sure to keep her face blank. She shrugged with a concerted effort. "Good for them. Looks like they caught on to each other's awesome way before the rest of us."

Quinn wanted to argue the point, but knew she had no leg on which to stand. She had believed Kurt had replaced her with Mercedes during freshman year when the Jones family moved to Lima. It irritated her that it was _Brittany_ who must have filled that hole between seventh and ninth grade, prior to Mercedes' arrival. She knew she was being irrational and had no cause to be jealous, but that knowledge didn't change how she felt; she was hurt. She was also confused, because until this year, when Tina and Brittany started dancing with Kurt, she had never seen them exchange a word in passing. It was weird.

Mercedes decided to hurry this up. "Quinn and I basically talked about Kurt and Finn, and this fucked up codependency thing they have going on."

Santana blinked and then slowly nodded. "Kurt and I talked about him, too. You first."

Mercedes glared but complied, laying it all out: how Finn was more in to Kurt than either boy realized; how worried she was that Finn could take advantage of Kurt and that Kurt would let him; that Finn was more manipulative than anyone understood; that Kurt's brain seemed to duck and cover whenever Finn came rolling around; and that, while she and Quinn had plans to find Kurt a suitable guy, Quinn didn't believe Finn was as dangerous as Mercedes herself did.

Santana quickly assimilated this information, reconciling with that which Kurt had imparted to her on the way home from Taco Bell. She nodded. "I agree with Aretha."

"Hold it right there," Mercedes said, raising a hand. "I'm tired of this 'Aretha' shit. I refuse to answer to a name given to me by a psychotic demon. You got your alias; I want my own."

Santana shrugged. "So pick one."

Mercedes appeared stumped.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Do you have any other nicknames? I'm surprised Tink hasn't given you one by now."

Mercedes smiled softly, a blush tinting her cheeks. "He calls me the Black Dahlia."

Santana raised a brow.

Brittany nodded. "Dahlias are symbolic of commitment and eternal bonds."

Mercedes blushed harder.

Quinn was blushing now, as well. "I was the Calla Lily."

"I like that one," Brittany said. "Calla lilies mean 'majestic beauty'."

Quinn looked away. "Aunt Suzanne loved flowers. There used to be a huge garden in the backyard, and Kurt would help her with it every weekend and all summer long. He learned the names of all the flowers and what they meant." She dropped her voice and stared at her hands, now folded in her lap. "After she died, so did the garden. Uncle Burt couldn't bear to touch it. Kurt was devastated."

Mercedes bit her lip and shut her eyes.

Santana turned to Brittany and stroked her arm. "Did he give you a flower name, too?"

She nodded shyly. "Gardenia. It means 'joy'."

Santana smiled and drew the other girl flush against her. "I approve. You've brought me nothing but joy."

Brittany giggled and buried her face in Santana's neck.

Quinn and Mercedes were uncomfortable, unused to witnessing such unguarded tender moments between the other two. It was the worst kept secret in Lima that Santana and Brittany were together; no one spoke of it, but it was universally accepted. It made Mercedes angry that if Kurt ever found the right guy, their love wouldn't be tolerated. Quinn was furious that the guys at school were so hypocritical that they got off on Santana and Brittany being together but would deny Kurt that same happiness. However, their anger and resentment took nothing away from the sweetness before them.

That Santana wasn't bothering to hide her affection from them, however, said a lot. Flirting and inappropriate banter were one thing, but that she allowed them this close, to see just how much Brittany meant to her, to see her being so _genuine_, indicated that she was lowering her defenses somewhat. She was making an honest effort.

And then it was over.

"By the way," Santana snapped, "only _I_ get to call him Tink. Come up with your own nicknames for him. And while his names for you are cute, I definitely got the better end of the deal. You're flowers; I'm the Lord of Darkness. Total win."

* * *

"So you agree with me about Finn?" a skeptical Mercedes asked Santana, who nodded.

"Sure do, and I'm glad we're on the same page about that one, because you have no idea just how far it's gotten. Tink didn't want to tell you because he was afraid you were gonna choke a bitch, and he wasn't sure if he or Finn was the bitch in question."

Mercedes' mouth fell open. "Huh?"

"What do you mean?" Quinn demanded.

Santana raised a brow. "Did you know that Finn calls Kurt every night and keeps him on the phone till all hours?" At their dumbstruck expression, she cheerfully nodded and continued. "We all agree that, by now, Finn knows how Kurt feels about him, right? Tink might not know that Finn knows, but Finn totally knows, you know?" She frowned. "I think I just channeled Brittany."

"Yeah," Mercedes laughed, "but we got it anyway."

Brittany snickered.

"Why the hell is Finn calling Kurt?" Quinn asked.

"To talk about you," Santana replied. "He talks to Kurt about you, about the baby, and about Berry. This has been going on for months, long before Babygate broke."

Mercedes frowned. Deeply. "I'm sorry?"

Santana nodded, her eyes large and bright. "Poor wittle Finn was just so confuzzled! He thought he loved Quinn, but then why did he have such strong feelings for Rachel? And why was he leading Rachel on while he was still with Quinn, before he even knew about Puck?"

Quinn's eyes bulged. "What!"

"He was into Rachel even while he was still supposedly happy with you. You only saw her chasing after Finn, which I guess is what led Tink to giving her that makeover from hell. He still feels guilty about that, by the way, which I don't understand, because from what he told me, she was an absolute _bitch_ to him about his feelings for Hudson. Whatever, the part you didn't see was that Hudson was totally egging her on. He liked the attention."

"I had no idea," Quinn whispered after a long moment, the sting of betrayal slapping her across the face.

Santana shrugged. "Yeah, I know." She turned to Mercedes. "But you did, didn't you? And you convinced Tink not to tell her."

Mercedes cut Quinn off at the pass. "Don't even. One, I owe you nothing, and Kurt sure as hell doesn't. Two, like Rachel, you were not above using my boy's feelings for that dumbass to get him to do your dirty work for you; I know all about what you said to get him to give Rachel that makeover. Three, what Finn did to you was totally jacked up, but not compared to what you did: cheating on him first, with his best friend no less; taking advantage of his own stupidity to explain your pregnancy; and lying about who the baby daddy was and allowing Finn to impersonate a damned _handicapped_ person to get a job."

Tears rolled down Quinn's face. "You really hate me," she whispered.

Mercedes rolled her eyes and wrapped an arm around Quinn. "I don't hate you, baby girl. Never did. I'm just doing what Kurt told us to do: call each other out on our bullshit when we're alone. You messed up big time, honey, but so have all of us. You may have cheated first, but Finn didn't know that when he started leading Rachel on." She raised a brow. "And whatever guilt he felt over that wasn't enough to get him to stop, was it? As far as Rachel knew, you and Finn were together and you were knocked up with his kid when she start pursuing him, but did she lose sleep over it? Doubt it."

Santana nodded. "Preach."

"And don't even get me started on Puck," Mercedes continued. "He may have wanted to step up, but the fact is he didn't, and no matter how much you threatened or pleaded with him to keep his big mouth shut, the bottom line is that it was his decision. If he was so in love with you and wanted so badly to be a father to his child, then he should have fucking grown a pair, manned up, and taken some responsibility. But did he? No. He kicked back and continued to lie to his supposed best friend, watching Finn work his ass off to support a kid that wasn't his."

"Puck helped out too," Quinn said lamely, "and he gave me some money."

Mercedes snorted. "Yeah, money he earned peddling his ass to lonely, stupid women, which, to my knowledge, he's _still_ doing. He was so in love with you, but he didn't stop sleeping around, nor did he stop chasing Santana or the rest of the Cheerios. And by the way, I pray to Jesus you got yourself tested after sleeping with him, because if he couldn't be bothered to wrap his junk for _you_, Lord only knows how many other times it's happened."

Quinn shuddered. "Believe me, that's the first thing I did once the shock at my own stupidity wore off. I'm getting tested once a month, and then probably once a year for the rest of my life."

Mercedes patted her knee. "Good girl."

"Look, Puck is probably my best friend," Santana said flatly, ignoring the choked gasps of surprise from Mercedes and Quinn, "but nothing Mercedes just said was wrong. He dicked you over, Quinn, just like you dicked over Hudson. Now you know that Hudson was dicking you over, too. You need to decide what you want to do about it."

Quinn took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "At this point, I don't want to do anything. I just want it to be over." She paused. "I know I'm probably not doing the right thing by not allowing Puck to be a part of the pregnancy but, honestly, just being around him is upsetting. What I told Kurt upstairs was true. Yes, I wanted to sleep with Puck, but I used to take pride in my self-control. Instead, I took all of my morals and values and chucked them out the window the moment I took my first sip of that wine cooler. That embarrasses me. That _humiliates_ me."

She sighed. "I was a complete bitch to Finn the entire time we were togethe, and I'm disgusted with myself for it. When I lied to him about the baby, I think that was the lowest I'd ever felt in my life. I completely took advantage of him and his mother, and I'm appalled by own behavior." She paused and looked down. "Still, it hurts knowing that he wanted Rachel all that time and that he lied about it. What I did was a lot worse, but the two of them are guilty, too."

"Yeah, they are," Mercedes nodded, "and so am I for running my fat mouth about your baby. That was not my business and it was not my place to tell anyone. I'm sorry."

Quinn gave her a watery smile. "Thank you."

Brittany was frowning. "I don't understand why Kurt is involved in all of this. Why is Finn calling him so much?"

Santana glowered. "Because Mercedes is right. Finn is using him because he's convenient. He's manipulating Kurt because he can. Kurt validates him and he needs that. Hudson needs to believe he's the good guy he and everyone else thinks he is. He knows how Kurt feels about him, and as much as he claims it makes it him uncomfortable, he's not above pushing it aside to get what he wants. He calls Tink every night to get reassurance that he's cute, that he's not a complete idiot, that he's fucking _worthy_ of Rachel. Either he's not conscious of what he's doing to Kurt, or he doesn't care. I'm honestly not sure which is worse. So, Finn gets to be happy, throwing Kurt a crumb here and there - which, hello, mixed message much? - while making Kurt his confidante, his shrink, Puck's replacement, and worshipful acolyte all rolled into one, not caring how much he's confusing or hurting Kurt."

Quinn saw red. She had been so cruel to Finn and felt such horrific guilt for it, but how was what she did to Finn any worse than what he was now doing to Kurt? It was absolutely vicious. Heartless, even. She wasn't going to stand for it.

Mercedes was all but frothing at the mouth.

Brittany stared off. "Let's kill him."

"Who are we killing?"

As one, the girls turned around to see Kurt gingerly descending the stairs, a tray of virgin strawberry daiquiris in one hand and a bowl of peeled fruit in the other.

"Paris Hilton, for fashion crimes against humanity," Mercedes promptly answered.

He nodded. "I'm in. I've even worked up some preliminary action plans on the off-chance this might happen." He crossed the room and set his offerings on the coffee table, before turning to assess them more carefully. He then frowned. "Now tell me what you were really talking about," he commanded.

Santana smirked. "About how much we want your hot, sexy body," she purred.

He blushed bright red as the other girls giggled, but didn't miss a beat. "No problem. With the proper diet and exercise program, you can get it."


	8. Coat of Many Colors

Kurt smiled and nodded as the girls prattled on incessantly about this, that, or the other.

He didn't know what he had interrupted, but he was fairly certain it had been about him, which meant he was entitled to weigh in on the subject matter. He knew he could simply demand that they tell him what they were discussing, but it was far more amusing to let them stew in their own juices. They were trying so _desperately_ hard to steer him away from whatever topic they had been whispering about that it only served to convince him further that it was scandalous. He loved being the topic of scandal, but only when he was the one who had engineered it.

Of course he would get them to reveal all, but now was not the time. Rather, it was time for him to have some fun at their expense. He would use trickery, lull them into a false sense of security, and then strike like the total ninja he secretly was.

"So, whatever shall we do now?" he asked innocently as Mercedes' long-winded rant died down.

Santana smirked. "Well, I was thinking that I really should be changing into my evening attire."

He raised a brow. "Indeed. I was thinking the same thing myself."

"Were you?" she cooed. "You were thinking about me undressing?"

"It's hard not to," he said, rather loftily. "After all, I do believe I am the only boy in our class who has yet to be so privileged."

Quinn cackled.

Mercedes let loose a low whistle. "Burn."

Santana leered. She wasn't offended; if anything, she was ecstatic that Kurt was willing to indulge her. She had figured he'd be one of those adorable gays who threw a hissy fit when boobs came out to play, but was pleasantly surprised that he was not. She stood and popped open the first button on her blouse, the one cunningly situated right over her breasts.

Kurt also stood, licking his lips. "Do you require assistance?" He then unbuckled his belt.

Mercedes blinked owlishly. "What the fuck is going on here? Is this real life?"

He frowned and then smirked. "Oh, come now, my delectable diva. It isn't as though I haven't seen your goodies on numerous occasions."

Her entire body flushed as Brittany and Quinn released very loud catcalls.

Kurt flashed them all an amused grin. "And while we're on the subject, Quinn and I used to bathe together."

"O ho!" Santana exclaimed.

Quinn just laughed. "We were kids, Kurt! We didn't even know those particular body parts had other functions."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Beside the point. The bottom line is that I won't be cowed by the threat of your breasts, Santana, though I've heard tell of their lethal powers."

She released a throaty laugh and popped another button. He countered by popping the fly on his skinny jeans. Suddenly, Santana was unsure.

"Kurt," Mercedes whispered in a strangled voice.

"Hm?" A lazy grin settled on his face, his eyes never leaving those of Santana.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He winked at her.

_Winked_.

"I'm merely preparing to slip into something more…comfortable."

"Are we playing strip poker?" Brittany asked. "I forgot my Old Maid cards."

"Do you know what you're doing?" Santana calmly asked him.

He raised a brow in challenge. "Do you?"

She smiled. "I can keep this up as long as you can."

He ran his tongue over his upper lip. "Yes, I've heard tales of your endurance, whereas you know nothing of mine. You have no idea just how long I can keep things…up." He popped the consonant on the last word and it was as though all of the air was sucked from the room.

Santana kept her eyes on his as she methodically unbuttoned her shirt and removed it, standing there in her satin bra. He chuckled and quickly divested himself of his sweater, standing before all of them in his bare-chested glory.

Santana stared. This was unexpected. He wasn't built, not like Puck, which, well, none of the boys at school were built like Puck. Kurt wasn't built like Finn or Mike or Matt. He wasn't muscled, but he was toned. _Everywhere_. He had not an ounce of fat on his body.

His skin was absolutely flawless. It was _beautiful_. It shouldn't have been. He was so damn _pale_ that he should have appeared ugly, but he was just…stunning. Luminous. His skin glowed as if lit from within.

He had a few freckles spread over his chest. Normally, Santana thought freckles were nothing more than Nature's pigment mistakes, but his looked almost artful, as if they had been placed strategically to mar perfection, but instead rendering him that much more perfect.

This was normally not the type of body to which she was attracted. She could appreciate it, certainly, but she liked more bulk, more _maleness_. Still, there was absolutely no doubt that Kurt was male. Powerfully male. It made no sense to her. It made no sense why she felt her face flush, her skin tingle with arousal. Okay, the unexpected sexual innuendo on the car ride home had been surprising, but also rather fun.

This was not fun. She sensed it was a situation in which she might lose control of her faculties. Because gay or not, lithe or not, pale or not, she kind of wanted to tackle him to the floor and mount him.

"Kurt, stop this right now," Mercedes commanded.

He cocked his head. "I'm sorry, did you just give me an order?"

The other girls were startled by how quickly Mercedes began backpedaling. On the surface, it had always appeared as though she were the one to wear the metaphorical pants in her relationship with Kurt, even though they well knew that he had a backbone of steel when it mattered. But now it was apparent that if Kurt was not in charge, he was at the very least an equal.

"I don't know why you're upset, boo," he said kindly. "We used my pool all last summer. You've seen me far more unclothed than this." Suddenly, his eyes were worried. "Am I really making you that uncomfortable?"

She stared at him and suddenly gleaned the game he was playing. She suppressed a grin.

Oh, she was in this now.

If he wanted to prove to Santana that he could be just as provocative as she, just as daring and unashamed of his sexuality, she would play along. Actually, she rather approved. It was rare to see Kurt so comfortable in his own skin, and for all she knew this was nothing more than bravado, that perhaps he was completely terrified and embarrassed but was too skilled an actor to let it show, refusing to be the first one to break. Good for him.

She laid herself out on his bed, her elbow bent, head resting in the palm of her hand and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Knock yourself out, stud," she purred. "I just thought you'd make the chickens wait a little longer to see the Promised Land."

He cackled and Santana made some strangely illustrative clucking noise, but she would not go down without a fight. Silently, she unzipped her skirt and let it fall to her feet. Not to be outdone, he slowly, teasingly, began to push his jeans past his narrow hips. He bent over and slid them down his long, lean legs as they watched, fascinated by the play of the muscles in his back. He righted himself, his face slightly flushed, stepped out of his jeans completely, and raised a brow.

"I had a dream like this once," Brittany chirped, looking back and forth between Kurt and Santana as if this were some deranged tennis match. Should she tell them the dream also involved Saran Wrap and Mister Schuester laying newspapers down on the floor? Probably not. But maybe tomorrow!

Santana gritted her teeth. Yep, definitely a boy. Those briefs left nothing to the imagination, but she knew she'd be imagining just what they concealed for a long time to come. One thing was certain: whatever guy was lucky enough to score Tink would have the right to brag about it for eons.

His legs were amazing. They were so _long_, and, and _elegant_, and they contained all of the muscle which his upper body did not. It should have looked disproportionate, but there was a strange balance in his appearance. Like Brittany, she realized.

Oh, shit.

His thighs were incredible; they looked like they had been carved rather than shaped. They were as hard as granite. They looked strong enough to choke a grizzly. She could see in her mind how they might grip a woman, might grip _her_.

Danger!

Might grip a man, then. Another man, like Puck. And holy _shit_, was that hot. The porn movie she had created now flashed behind her eyes and it was fucking _awesome_. She would have to take notes later, because she was forming a plan, one she had every intention of actualizing. She didn't care that Puck and Tink – oh, Jesus, they both had _fairy_ names! – hated each other. Hate sex could be _amazing_.

They didn't have to fall in love and skip through a field of tulips, reciting sonnets and shit. She just wanted to watch them fuck.

She was conscious that all eyes were now on her, and she was pretty sure that she had lost this round. That was okay. He had taken her by surprise and she had underestimated him, so she deserved this and would concede his victory. But she'd pay him back. Oh, yes. She would pay him back.

"Uncle," she rasped. "You win this time, Tink. Good play."

"Are you sure?" he coyly asked, his index finger sliding between the waistband of his briefs and his way-too-tempting bare skin.

She glared. "Don't push it." She grabbed her bag, grabbed Brittany, and then stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes in amusement when she heard his uproarious laughter.

* * *

"Are you okay?" an alarmed Mercedes asked Quinn, who was now flushed, sweat dripping off her brow.

She stared at Kurt, silently cursing him. What right did he have to look like that? Where was his modesty? Where was his self-control? How big was his penis? This was entirely unacceptable!

"Get. Dressed."

He frowned.

"Kurt Hummel, I am currently pregnant and have a surge of hormones running throughout my young, nubile body. Translation: I am _horny_. If you do not get dressed immediately, I will _not_ be responsible for what I will do to you. Because right now? I'm pretty sure that I don't give a good goddamn that you're gay. You have the equipment – a lot of it, it would appear – and I will _make_ it work."

Mercedes realized that, okay, Quinn Fabray had more moments of complete awesome than could have ever been expected, because anyone who could put _that_ look on Kurt Hummel's face was definitely a winner in her book. Also, she kind of hated Santana for stopping Kurt before he got to the really good part. That rather _Big_ Part.

And, yeah, she remembered all too well his tiny Speedo from last summer, and, sure, she had seen his bare naked ass in all of its amazing – no, seriously, it was _amazing_ – glory, but she'd yet to see the goods. She was a healthy teenage girl and, _surprise_, girls were just as interested in sex as boys, and though she knew Kurt was never going to rock her world, she still felt that he owed her some full-frontal. She turned hungry eyes on him and smirked when he went from Lolita to Bambi in under three seconds.

Quinn started panting.

Kurt's eyes widened to the size of banjos and he dove toward his closet, releasing an indignant squawk and tripping on his own feet. His stupid big-ass feet. He slammed the doors shut behind him.

"I'm sorry, Quinnie!" he wailed. "I didn't mean anything by it, honest! It was just a game!"

* * *

Quinn ignored both him and the questioning yet amused stare of Mercedes as she fought to get herself under control. She hadn't entertained _those_ thoughts of Kurt in a very long time, not after her prepubescent mind had become aware that no matter how much he loved her, he'd never love her in the way she wanted.

She had been thinking a lot about Kurt lately, ever since she had discovered she was pregnant. He represented an easier time in her life, a much happier one. Everything had been so simple. She would get up, get dressed according to Kurt's exacting standards, eat breakfast, call Kurt, go to school, have classes and recess and lunch with Kurt, wait for her mother to pick up her and Kurt, do homework with Kurt, eat dinner with Kurt, watch sadly as Uncle Burt picked up Kurt, get undressed, call Kurt, go to sleep, dream of Kurt, and then start the whole process over the next day.

And she had liked that; she had _loved_ that.

After she had brutally rebuffed him in favor of Puck and Santana and the other cool kids in sixth grade, there had been a fundamental shift in her world view and everything had been divided into Before and After Kurt.

_After Kurt_ had been so much harder, so much more convoluted and treacherous. Suddenly she had found herself in some bizarre Lima Pre-Teen United Nations, where diplomacy mattered far more than friendship. There were so many factions, and one had to take care to know exactly who was in which faction and why. There were schemes and plots and coups, many of them centered around her.

She had hated it but had nevertheless excelled. She had made her choice, determining early on that it had been the wrong one, but there had been no point in wallowing or whining.

Gradually, she had assumed leadership, exerting her will over everyone, including Puck and Santana, the ones who had brought her into this new life. Although, admittedly, Santana had been ignorant of her relationship with Kurt, for if she had been aware, she would have blasted Quinn for disregarding him so cruelly. Santana was an extraordinary bitch, but she could also be supremely loyal to those who had showed loyalty to her. That was probably a lesson Quinn had needed but not recognized at the time.

At any rate, she had reigned supreme throughout junior high, and it was no surprise to anyone that, on the first day of freshman year, she had established dominion over a new school.

And as her high school career continued, she blossomed even further. She was in the top ten percent of her class. She was the head cheerleader with the perfect dreamy boyfriend. She held offices in several school clubs. Guys wanted her and girls wanted to be her. She set the fashion, the trends, the fads. She had everything she thought she'd ever wanted and all it had left her feeling was hollow. But it was enough. She had forced it to be enough.

And then she had peed on a stick and her life changed forever.

She had placed one trembling hand over her stomach and reached for the phone with the other, before realizing that she didn't know what Kurt's cell phone number was.

She knew his birthday, his favorite colors, his favorite Spice Girl, his favorite flower.

She knew his parents' birthdays and their wedding anniversary. She knew the day, the hour, and the exact minute when Aunt Suzanne had died. She knew the address and phone number of Uncle Burt's shop.

She knew what Kurt smelled like fresh from the shower. She knew how he organized his CDs: first according to genre, then filed alphabetically. She knew that he thought Madonna was the new Jesus and that Mary Hart was a robot from the planet Romulak. She knew his favorite Golden Girl, his favorite Charmed One, his favorite Disney princess, and his favorite member of the Babysitters Club.

She knew he was allergic to penicillin and seafood. She knew he had favored fruit-scented lip balms until being introduced to Burt's Bees, which became his favorite _everything_ because it was not only relatively expensive, but also organic and shared his father's name. She knew he could perform an oil change in under ten minutes and that he knew more about cars than most of the guys who worked for Uncle Burt.

She knew what his hair smelled like, what his lips tasted like, and how it felt to curl up with him under that dresser.

She had known everything about Kurt Hummel except his fucking phone number.

And that, more than Finn or Puck or her parents or the baby, was what had caused her to burst into tears for the first time in four years.

Oh, she could have called the house phone, but that entailed the possibility of having to speak with Uncle Burt, a thought which had terrified her. Despite the fact that the man looked like he could eat you alive if you bothered him, Burt Hummel was a very sweet and kind man, except where his son was concerned. If you ever hurt Kurt, you'd best pack your bags and be gone from town before the sun set. She'd had no illusions that if she had called and he had answered, she would have been in for the tongue-lashing of her life.

She still couldn't believe that Uncle Burt had allowed her to move in. Whatever Kurt had said to his father to ensure the man's permission must have been a feat of oratory. Or, she considered, Uncle Burt was counting on Mercedes to take care of her if she crossed any lines. And, yeah, that was a viable threat. Mercedes was a lot like Burt Hummel, actually. She talked a big game and made threats like other people made toast every morning, but when Kurt was involved, all bets were off. Mercedes would nail you to a tree and then rip you from it, leaving you to bleed to death in a gutter.

Quinn shivered. She told herself not to fuck this up.

* * *

Santana and Brittany stood in Kurt's admittedly spectacular basement bathroom. Santana had changed into her nightshirt, while Brittany struggled to put her hair in pigtails.

Santana stared blatantly at her girlfriend. Brittany's trembling hands suggested she was aware of the scrutiny.

"I can't tell you."

Santana heaved a disappointed sigh. "You're going to have to do better than that, babe."

Brittany bit her lip and again cursed her own stupidity. She should never have let it slip to Quinn and Mercedes just how close she and Kurt were. She should have guessed one of the girls would tell Santana, who of course had narrowed in on the scent like Scooby Doo.

Santana cocked an eyebrow, patiently waiting. She knew she would win this. The only surprise was that Brittany had been able to keep it from her this long. In truth, that hurt a little bit; they told each other everything. Still, she suspected that Brittany had held her silence in a show of loyalty to Kurt, for which Santana could not blame her. The Hummel brat had endeared himself to her as well, and she was ready to take on anyone who made Tink frown. She didn't understand it, was pretty sure she didn't like it, but really couldn't bring herself to give a fuck. Especially if this was about what she thought it was.

She knew Kurt and Brittany were _friendly_; Kurt wouldn't just allow anyone into his house or select a stranger to be one of his backup dancers. But being friendly and being _friends_ were two distinct matters. If Kurt and Brittany had been friends for _four years_, that only meant one thing.

"I'm going to ask you three questions," Santana said carefully. "I don't want you to betray Kurt, but I'm concerned. You only have to give me one-word answers, and I swear that I will never repeat to Kurt or anyone else what you've told me."

Brittany knew the jig was up. Santana would never let this go, and if she didn't get the answers she wanted, she would confront Kurt directly. That wouldn't be good for anyone. "Okay," she said quietly.

Santana nodded. "Was Kurt in the clinic with you?"

Brittany swallowed. "Yes."

Santana pursed her lips, silently cursing. Damn it, she should have seen this coming. Looking back, it made total sense. Of course, hindsight was always twenty-twenty, and it was only now that the various clues rearranged themselves to form a rather depressing picture. She had never seen him eat at school. He rarely drank anything other than water. He was so _thin_.

"Anorexia or bulimia?"

"Anorexia," Brittany softly admitted.

Santana nodded again. That made sense. Kurt wouldn't do anything which compromised his voice, and bulimia was notorious for causing esophageal scarring in severe cases. Also, for someone who desired control as much as Kurt did, anorexia would allow him more than bulimia necessarily would. If he could absolutely control his food intake to the point where he could refuse to eat for days at a time, that would have appealed to him more than having to eat and then throwing it up.

It was a sick, vicious cycle, and while she was no expert, she remembered with vivid clarity the bulimic hell to which Brittany had once condemned herself. She had researched eating disorders like a demon, exhausting the Allen County Library System. She had included herself in Brittany's outpatient therapy, much to Brittany's relief. She didn't even bother to hide how obsessively she watched Brittany's diet and exercise regimes. To the girl's credit, Brittany had never lapsed back into bad habits. Brittany was so much stronger than most people would ever know, but that didn't stop Santana from worrying. In fact, she was now wondering if Brittany watched Kurt with the same scrutiny.

"Does anyone other than Uncle Burt know?"

"Just Tina." There were others, but they were irrelevant at the moment, Brittany assured herself.

Santana could see that. Kurt's friendship with Tina predated his with Mercedes. Most people didn't know that, but most people didn't pay attention to their surroundings with the diligence of one Santana Lopez. Still, it was surprising to realize just how much she had been watching Kurt, even if inadvertently.

Kurt and Tina's friendship was so subtle that it usually escaped notice. In fact, most people believed they were only friends by association, due to Tina's friendship with Mercedes and Kurt's with Artie. They weren't flashy like Kurt was with Mercedes, or cutesy, like Tina was with Artie. It was a quiet, introspective relationship. She had observed them holding entire conversations with their eyes. Kurt and Mercedes had some aspect of that, but it also involved code words and hand signals.

Kurt and Tina were tuned into each other on a frequency that most people could only ever hope to share with another person. It was always apparent whenever Kurt was fighting with Mercedes, or Tina with Artie. Kurt and Tina would take to haunting the halls with each other, protectively hovering around the other person. If such a fight occurred on a day when glee club met, they were the first ones in the room. Whoever was fighting with their bestie would take one of the chairs at the end of the row with the other huddled closely next to them, acting as a buffer and shutting out the person with whom the other was fighting.

It wasn't spoken of, but whenever Kurt was sandwiched between the wall and Tina, everyone knew to give him a wide berth lest they incur the wrath of Cohen-Chang, who could be seriously scary when she put her mind to it. Likewise, if Tina was fighting with Artie, Kurt's frigid glare at whoever dared approach the girl could freeze bone marrow. Even the jocks knew not to mess with Kurt when he was in Protective Mode.

Kurt and Tina weren't best friends. Santana wasn't sure _what_ they were, exactly. It didn't appear as if it were a runner-up situation or one of last resort. She beleived they were the kind of friends who could go without speaking for ten years and then pick up a conversation as though it were Later That Same Day. It was kind of cool, really.

She knew they had been friends for a long time, at least since elementary school, but didn't know whether Quinn had been a part of that. In fact, now that she thought about it, she couldn't believe that she hadn't known Quinn and Kurt were best friends for so long. She remembered them hanging around each other a lot, but she hadn't known or cared about the extent of their involvement.

Of course, back then she hadn't been concerned with anyone but Brittany and Puck. Finn had never entered into the equation, because Santana honestly couldn't stand how weak he was; in fact, it had galled her. Everyone always assumed that Finn and Brittany were two sides of the same coin, but that wasn't true at all. Both were sweet, but Brittany was anything but dim. And if you ever crossed someone she loved, it was pretty much game over. She was sneaky and could be lethal when the situation required.

She knew that Finn was Puck's best friend, but that was mostly in name only; Puck had been too scared as to what others might think if they knew a _girl_ was his real best friend. Puck really could be a pussy sometimes. She didn't really care when Puck would ditch her to hang with Finn, because she knew he needed fellow Tarzan time or whatever, and it left her alone with Brittany, which had only ever been a good thing. She loved Puck and probably always would, but she couldn't be around him that often. He was chocolate cake; Brittany was oxygen.

Puck had brought Quinn into their triangle and squared it out, but Santana hadn't really cared. She'd had Brittany, who was the only one who ever really mattered to her, and while she had accepted Quinn, they had never been too close. They were friends, and they supported the other when she was threatened, but they were both alpha girls always struggling to establish dominance over each other. Maybe that would change now that they had united for Kurt, or maybe it wouldn't because he would simply be something else over which they would fight. Without him knowing, of course.

As for Puck, they'd always be best friends even though they had little in common but sex. They were best friends even when they hated each other's guts. It was weird, but constant. Right now, they were kind of hating each other. She was sure once Monday rolled around, the hate would be in full effect. She had drawn lines and stood with Kurt, and she didn't regret it. Once Puck discovered that she and Quinn were circling each other once more and that Kurt was involved, he would be incensed. She was fine with that. She was still pretty pissed off that Puck had slept with Quinn in the first place, and she thought the way he treated Kurt was pathetic.

She frowned, flashing back on that scene in Taco Bell. What had Kurt said to Puck?

_Do you remember third grade? I hate Puck, but sometimes I miss Noah. I really liked him_.

What the hell had that meant?

She remembered the look on Puck's face at those words. Sadness, maybe even sorrow. The hell? How had she missed that the first time around? Oh, yeah. She was too busy having one of the most awesome orgasms _of her life_.

But it didn't make any sense. To the best of her knowledge, they had never associated with each other as anything other than enemies. She had been best friends with Puck at that time and Kurt had been with Quinn, and she was pretty sure she would remember if Kurt and Puck had been hanging out _together_.

Still, it bothered her. Not only because it might mean that Puck had been hiding something from her, but that Kurt had been betrayed by two friends and not just one.

Wait.

Had Puck _stolen_ Quinn from Kurt in sixth grade, like he had stolen Quinn from Finn just months ago? Was _that_ why Puck had been so furious at Taco Bell tonight? She knew he would've seen through her ploy that she was romancing Kurt; she'd meant for him to and she knew it would've pissed him off. But now she was wondering if he had been angry because he believed that Kurt had stolen _her_ from him. Perhaps in retaliation for Quinn?

Or, even more bizarre, did Puck believe she had stolen Kurt from him?

And Kurt must have known that and played on it, which was just _awesome_. Good for him! At last, a worthy partner in malice!

Now that she knew Kurt, now that they had bonded so strangely and completely, she was a little worried, because she had the impression that she would place Kurt before everyone but Brittany. She didn't know if he would do the same for her, but she suspected he would always support her, no matter what Quinn or Mercedes thought of it. Kurt, more than almost anyone she knew, was his own person. He made up his own mind and didn't let anyone do his thinking for him. She liked that. She admired that.

But now she was worried that once Puck discovered Quinn was living with Kurt, he would double his efforts at revenge, believing Kurt had stolen both girls from him. It was ridiculous, of course; Quinn didn't want Puck, and Santana herself was happy with Brittany. She'd always be friends with Puck, but she didn't much like him at the moment. She would have to conspire with Quinn later so that they could plot to shield Kurt from Puck. Not that Kurt couldn't take care of himself, but Puck always had a pack mentality and she wouldn't it put it past him to corral the jocks to start wolf-packing Kurt again.

She wouldn't allow that to happen.

"Are you all right?" asked a worried Brittany.

Santana shook her head to clear it. "Sure, babe. Just thinking."

"You aren't going to tell anyone what I told you." It was a statement, not a question.

Santana was proud. She shook her head. "Of course not. I promised, and I'd never break a promise to you. Besides, it's no one's business."

Brittany smiled happily.

"I have two more questions."

Brittany frowned. She didn't like that. Santana had said she would only ask three. Still, she sensed it might be important. "Okay, but I reserve the right not to answer."

Santana smiled. "Fair enough." Her eyes darkened. "First, do we need to worry about this?"

Brittany solemnly shook her head. "I watch him pretty carefully and he knows it. He's never relapsed. He knows if I ever thought he had, I'd go right to his dad."

She didn't feel compelled to mention that Kurt watched her closely as well or that, once he had learned about the dictated cleanse ritual, he had confronted Coach Sylvester and threatened her until she had given in and excused Brittany from the regime. She had thought Sylvester was just placating him, but it was never mentioned again and she never had to do the cleanse; she just had to fake it. That was okay, because she was used to faking things, like orgasms with boys. She even thought that Coach might have respected Kurt just a little bit for being so vicious.

Santana nodded. "Okay." She'd accept that for now. She was also going to start watching him. Discreetly. "Second, Mercedes said you and Kurt had been friends for four years. That means sixth grade, or at least since the summer between sixth and seventh, which is when your parents checked you in to the clinic."

Brittany nodded warily.

"Sixth grade was when Quinn dropped Kurt. So my question is how much did she have to do with Kurt developing an eating disorder?"

Brittany's expression was thunderous. She hadn't put those pieces together, but now that Santana had done it for her, she could see how well they fit. Kurt had never said anything to her about Quinn until tonight. She had never known they were friends. But she remembered group therapy, when Kurt talked about a best friend who had dumped him. She remembered how upset and depressed he had been over it. She had just never known it was Quinn.

"I'm mad now."

* * *

Santana and Brittany emerged from the bathroom, and Quinn immediately noticed the change in their demeanor. Brittany was avoiding looking at everyone, but Quinn could tell she was quietly seething. Santana looked more pompous and defensive than ever. This did not bode well.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Fine," Santana said shortly, restless eyes scanning the room. "Where's Tink?"

"In the closet," Mercedes said blandly, perusing all of the lotions and potions on Kurt's vanity.

Santana raised a brow. "Again? Isn't that redundant at this point?"

Mercedes snorted and pointed at Quinn. "Yeah, well that was before the Virgin Mary over there got all hot and bothered over my boy and his briefs. He decided to take refuge in the only available place."

Quinn blushed brightly but her eyes were defiant. "It's not my fault!"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Right, because it's the baby who wants a tumble."

Quinn wrinkled her nose. "You're disgusting."

"And you need to get laid."

Quinn harrumphed but didn't deny it. Stupid hormones.

"Kurt's really hot," Brittany said. "I'd hit it."

They stared at her and she shrugged.

"Like you wouldn't," she sneered.

Mercedes snickered.

"Well," Santana said loudly, "it's good that he's gone. Now we can theorize about the size of his cock while plotting to get him a man without interruption."

The other girls cackled.

Kurt stormed out of the closet and glared at them all, hands on his hips.

The force of his fury was somewhat diminished by his outfit and slightly-mussed hair. The oversized _Team Jolie_ t-shirt hung off one shoulder and the fuzzy pajama pants decorated with ducks ended about three inches above his ankles.

Santana, Mercedes, and Quinn howled with laughter; Brittany clapped with excitement.

"You're wearing my birthday present!" she gushed.

He smiled softly at her. "Of course I am. I told you how much I loved them."

She blushed lightly and ducked her head. "I thought you were just saying that."

"Certainly not," he sniffed. "I never lie about fashion. I like everything you've ever given me. I love ducks and I love you."

She bounded over to him and gave him an enthusiastic hug, which he returned.

Santana forced a scowl. She was not about to be _charmed_. "Those pants are getting a little short."

"Then I'll wear them as pedal-pushers," he snapped back.

She smirked. God, she loved a bitch.

"You look _adorable_," Quinn cooed, a maternal look on her face. She appeared ready to rush him and pinch his cheeks, a far cry from the look she had been leveling at him moments previous.

Mercedes and Santana grunted. He _did_ look adorable. He also looked ten years old. The dichotomy between this and the sexy beast of ten minutes ago was startling. Kurt was just so…innocent, and in so many ways.

Kurt rolled his eyes in frustration. "I am not adorable."

He punctuated this resounding truth by childishly stomping his foot.

"You're adorable," the girls all insisted.

"Am not."

"You're adorable, son!" Burt called down from upstairs.

"Dad!" Kurt screeched.

The girls cackled once more.

Santana silently vowed to get _Burt Hummel: Made of Awesome_ t-shirts created as soon as possible. Perhaps even some trucker hats. Maybe an entire line of Awesome?

Absolutely.


	9. Take My Breath Away

Kurt was now moody and sullen and, after firmly shutting his bedroom door and blocking out his admittedly awesome father, decided it was the perfect time to get his way. Of course, it was _always_ the right time for him to get his way, but these things needed a delicate touch. Best to take them by surprise, leaving them unable to voice passable lies. Also, it was funnier.

But not adorable. He was _not_ adorable, damn it!

"All right," he sniffed disdainfully, peering down his nose at the girls, "I demand you tell me what you were talking about when I came down the stairs with these dazzling and nutritious snacks."

The girls eyed each other. They knew it was only a matter of time, and they knew as well that he wouldn't be put off. He had allowed them a temporary reprieve to unsettle them and amuse himself, but now it was clear he had been slowly circling the waters, waiting to strike. Like a shark.

No, that image evoked Puck.

Piranha? No, bad teeth.

Water moccasin? That was more serviceable.

So. How best to approach this? They could only hope he would take it well.

"We were talking about how we need to kill Finn for leading you on," Brittany happily chirped.

Quinn groaned and facepalmed herself. "Hopes. Dashed."

Brittany frowned. "Oh, was it a secret? I thought we were just waiting to talk about it."

Kurt blinked owlishly.

"Now don't throw a Berry," Mercedes cautioned him. "We're just concerned, and if any one of us were in the same situation, you would feel the same way and you damn well know it."

He glared at her. "Explain."

She glowered right back at him. "How about _you_ explain why you didn't tell me that crazy white boy was calling your ass every night and whining about his Sad Sack life?"

He curled a lip and stared at Santana, who shrugged and was entirely unrepentant. He promptly decided that she must have enjoyed not having a conscience and resolved to look into her methods so that he might dispose of his own. Not that she was heartless, but she truly didn't care what anyone thought of her. It must have been very freeing. He wanted that.

"Do you really think you playing Lucy to his Charlie Brown is going to make him fall in love with you?" Mercedes demanded.

He flushed. "Did you ever think, Mercedes, that I listen to him because he needs to someone to talk to? Did it ever occur to you that I might like Finn as a _person_ and not just an object of lust? Did you ever stop to posit that I might actually like having a friend who is also male?"

She gave him a dubious look, even though his words, his embarrassment, and his hurt were broadcasting loud and clear. Also, he had a legitimate point. The only guy to give him the time of day was Artie, and that was a friendship born of proximity and not necessarily feeling. While the two got on well enough, they were casual friends at most. So, yeah, she could buy that her baby liked the fact that Finn wasn't scared of Teh Gay. She herself didn't necessarily believe this, but she could understand why Kurt wanted to.

Still, this needed to be said. "And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you want him so bad you can taste it?"

He averted his gaze. "I didn't realize you thought so little of me."

"I don't!" she protested, grabbing his hand and refusing to relinquish it when he tried to free himself.

Oh, shit, she was going down in flames. At the same time, she realized he was manipulating her in an effort to stall the conversation. She couldn't let him get away with that.

"But I know you, baby, and you love that boy. And I mean full-out, violin-swelling, fan-dancing love. If this were just a passing crush, I'd shrug and say that you'll get over it in time, but this has been going on for months now, Kurt, and it's only getting worse." She raised a brow. "And if you didn't think there was some truth to my words, if you didn't believe on some level that I was right, if you didn't have these same thoughts your damn self, you wouldn't have hidden the fact that he's your phone buddy."

"I see," he said coolly. "I was unaware that I required your permission to speak with other people. Let me just make a note of that for future reference."

She sighed and rolled her eyes before shaking her head. Goddamn it, this was turning into an epic fail. Everything she said was effortlessly turned against her; hell, he had placed her on the defensive before she had even opened her mouth! He was good. Damn good. There should be lessons.

"You're not even listening to me."

"I'm hearing you just fine, Miss Jones. It is apparent, however, that you are either unable or unwilling to bear in mind points of view other than your own."

Mercedes winced. She knew where this was going, and she had to admit he had cause. She _did_ tend to run roughshod over the feelings of others, just to communicate her view and why it was not only the best one, but the only _acceptable_ one. The problem was that Kurt had seen through her methods the first day they met and had never allowed her to best him. He just was so much more subtle and skilled at these types of games. Manipulation was second-nature to him. So masterful a puppeteer was he that, most of time, those dangling at the ends of his strings were unaware said strings were even being pulled. Thank god she was on his good side.

She flashed back on a comment made earlier in the evening by Santana and now appreciated its veracity: were the fact that Kurt's gayness not so offensive to the ignorant, unwashed masses of their school, he would be running it. Probably as the right hand of Sylvester, until he overthrew her in a bloody coup and crowned himself the ruler of all he surveyed. Possibly he already had a tiara picked out for just such an occasion.

Santana jumped in. "You know what, Tink? You're right. You say he's your friend. Fine. You say we have no reason to worry. Okay. Convince us of that right now, and we let this whole thing drop and never mention it again."

He eyed her. "Your word."

Mercedes slowly exhaled a sigh of relief, more grateful to Santana than she could have ever conceived of being. She wondered what it would cost her later.

Santana nodded. "Absolutely." She cocked her head. "Look, cutie, we all agreed to this at the beginning of the night: we call each other out on our bullshit. Mercedes and Quinn have already done that with each other, as have Quinn and I. Now it's your turn. You don't get special dispensation because you've got an enormous penis or because this is your house. The dullard needs someone to talk to and you've decided to take up that mantle. Great! So how about you talk to _us_ about how this is affecting you?"

He searched her eyes for malice or pity and found none. He sighed. "It's hard. Right now I'm closer to Finn than I ever dreamed I would be and, at this point, it's far beyond anything so banal as romantic interest."

"But you're in love with him?" Brittany softly asked.

He looked at her with pained eyes before slowly nodding. "But not in the way you all think," he then qualified.

Mercedes frowned. What did that mean?

"What does that mean?" Santana asked.

He stared off at some point past them, as if he could see through the wall behind his bed. Finally, he shrugged. "I'm not sure how to explain it. Before, it was about how he looked and acted towards me." He fidgeted. "It was nice, having a guy other than Artie unafraid to be in my presence." He looked down. "Sometimes, I think even Mr. Schue is uncomfortable around me."

Santana raised a brow. That had better not be the case, or Schuester was in for a rude awakening. She could understand why Kurt felt that way, though. Schue had never bothered to hide that he considered the other members of Glee as little more than an extension of Finn and Rachel. Given that Kurt was considered an outcast by the entire school simply because he was gay, it was logical that he inferred Schue's lack of regard for him as latent homophobia. She didn't really believe that was the case, however, and said as much.

"Perhaps," Kurt demurred. "I could very well be reading more into the situation than there is, but you also have to acknowledge that he didn't even want to allow me to audition for _Defying Gravity_; he had to be coerced."

"He's right," Quinn interjected, "and Schue _had_ to know the high F was easily in Kurt's range. Even I knew that, and I'm betting Rachel did as well. She pays too much attention to how each of us sings so that she can _correct_ us. They both know he threw it, but not why." She turned to Kurt. "About that…"

He sighed and slowly – haltingly – explained about the harassing phone calls. He expected Quinn and Mercedes to explode, Santana to vow vengeance on those involved, and for Brittany to cry. He was very surprised when he was proven quite wrong.

Quinn and Mercedes, while obviously outraged, were very close to Burt Hummel, and thus understood Kurt's desire to shield his father from the abuse with which he suffered daily. They didn't necessarily approve of Kurt's solution, not the least of which because it provided a triumph for Rachel, but they understood his impetus.

It was Brittany who was so frightening. She became the living embodiment of Vesuvius and began threatening everyone she could think of, including, for some odd reason, Santa Claus. She was outraged. She loved Kurt and therefore, by extension, his father. She'd had no idea just how pervasive the campaign of intimidation against him was, truly believing it limited to just a few ignorant jocks. It didn't make sense to her. How could anyone not like Kurt? So she decided anyone who hurt him had to be punished, and she wanted to be the one doing the punishing.

Santana smoothly stepped in. "The logical course of action is to ensure that the landlines for the house and shop are outfitted with Caller ID. Keep a logbook for each, noting the time, date, and duration of the call. Try to keep the idiot on the line for as long as possible. Don't threaten them in return, and don't waste your time by informing them of how stupid they really are. The best thing to do is to recite the statute they're violating; I'll look it up later and email it to you. It may not cut down on the harassment altogether, but might decrease the frequency of the calling."

The other girls stared at her.

Kurt frowned. "To what end? There are no hate crime laws for sexual orientation in this state. Dad talked to the police. If there's enough evidence, there's a slim chance of conveying a charge of stalking against those responsible, but it would probably never see the light of day in court."

She smirked. "Sexual orientation has nothing to do with it. The root cause for the harassment is not the issue; the harassment itself is the issue. Telephonic harassment is illegal, no matter the nature of the harassment. Criminal charges might never be filed, but if you can determine conclusively who is responsible, you could probably pursue a civil suit. It would be tricky, as the law is not as well-defined as it should be, but there is some wiggle room and precedents exist in other states. A good attorney could make this a credible case if you want to take it that far."

His eyes widened.

"How do you know all of this?" Mercedes demanded of Santana, who sniffed.

"My father is the most prominent and successful civil rights attorney in western Ohio. Believe me, I know I'm talking about." She turned back to Kurt. "You could try to skirt the issue of sexual orientation, but you might not be able to entirely. It wouldn't be easy and would probably bring you a lot of unwanted attention. Only you can decide if you're willing to take that chance."

"Of course he is!" Mercedes thundered. "This shit has to stop!"

Santana glared at her. "It's real easy for you to kick back and tell other people what they should say or do, but this isn't about you, and you need to shut your mouth and think about what you're saying. Both Kurt and Uncle Burt would come under a firestorm if they pursued this. Can you even imagine the publicity this would create? Kurt's identity, as a minor, would be protected, but Uncle Burt would be mentioned as a plaintiff, and any journalist who wants to sell papers would have no qualms about listing the other plaintiff as Burt Hummel's 'minor son'."

Mercedes looked unimpressed.

"This would go county-wide, possibly even state-wide, and further if a precedent were set. The Hummels would be topics for articles, op-ed pieces, and television and radio spots. Uncle Burt could lose business. Kurt's harassment at school could be extended beyond its walls. Their house, as well as the shop, could be vandalized. Don't you get it? Kurt was right. There are no hate crime laws on the books in Ohio to protect victims harassed because of sexual orientation. This could ultimately make the harassment increase in both frequency and severity. If Kurt's name became publicly linked to such a case – and we all know it would be – it could affect his college recruitment and follow him around for years."

Mercedes immediately halted her protest. Big picture, she told herself. Kurt usually looked to the big picture, but she herself charged in without considering the consequences more often than not. She was working on that. Apparently, she needed to work harder.

"But isn't it the right thing to do?" Quinn asked.

"Right for whom?" Kurt whispered. "If it were successful, it would be right for people other than myself who could demand protection under the law. But would it be right for me? Would it be right for me to fear for my life every time I left the house? To have adults rather than teenagers look at me with scorn and hatred? This isn't New York or San Francisco. I don't want to be lynched or taken out to a field and beaten to death. I don't want to be the next poster boy for the Trevor Project. I don't want my name to become synonymous with the so-called gay agenda. I just want to live my life like everyone else does. Why is that wrong?"

"It's not," Brittany said. "Being gay is a part of who you are, Kurty, but it doesn't define you. It makes me sad that more people don't understand this, but that just means I get to have more of you to myself. So, they're stupid for being stupid. But it's not wrong for you to want to have a normal life. It's not wrong for you to want to feel safe."

He gave her a half-smile and reached over to take her hand in his own. "Thank you."

She nodded and hummed absently before narrowing her gaze. "You know it's Karofsky, don't you?"

He sighed. "I believe it is."

"You know he's in love with you."

"What!" the other girls howled.

"I don't think it's gotten quite that far," Kurt said warily.

"What!" Santana, Quinn, and Mercedes bellowed with an entirely different intonation.

"How did you know?" Kurt asked Brittany.

She shrugged. "There was a Cheerio party last year at Melissa Kellerman's house. Karofsky was drunk and tried to hook up with me. I was a little curious, so I allowed it to a certain extent. But then he told me that though my eyes were almost as pretty as yours, my skin wasn't as soft. And he totally didn't get a boner when he was dry humping me. So I figured it out. He got pretty upset that he couldn't get it up and tried to blame me."

"And what did you do?" Santana asked evenly.

Brittany beamed. "I punched him in the dick."

Santana hooted as Quinn and Mercedes stared at Brittany in awe.

Brittany shrugged again. "He didn't remember the next day, or so he claims, but ever since then, he's never bothered me."

"So you pretty much win at life," Kurt smirked.

She nodded. "Yep."

Quinn looked reproachfully at Kurt. "While this has been an interesting digression, I think we've allowed your avoidance long enough."

Mercedes nodded furiously, and Kurt glared at both of them.

"Fine," he seethed. "First, however, I want all of you to think about something: you've been considering and discussing my relationship with Finn, whatever that might be, through the lens created by both Santana and Mercedes. You've been judging us based on what they've told you they believe that relationship to be, not necessarily what it is."

Quinn blinked.

Brittany frowned. "Okay, so, you're saying that Sanny and Mercedes are biased because they don't like Finn and they don't like to think about you being with Finn in any way."

Santana and Mercedes rolled their eyes.

Kurt nodded. "Exactly." He turned to Quinn. "You probably know Finn better than anyone else in this room, so let's get down to brass tacks. You think Finn is manipulating me because he knows my feelings for him."

"Yes," she said bluntly.

He nodded. "I will concede that Finn, in fact, can be very manipulative. He's easily dismissed as an idiot but, while he might not be academically inclined, it cannot be argued that he's very gifted when it comes to matters of emotion. He always gets right to the heart of a situation, and his insight can be disarmingly clear."

She narrowed her eyes and cautiously nodded. "Agreed," she said slowly.

"Was he ever able to manipulate you, despite the fact that you were in love with him?"

She scoffed. "Of course not."

He raised a brow. "And do you truly believe that I could be so far gone that I would allow anyone, even the object of my affection, to pull the wool over my eyes? Do you sincerely think that I couldn't see that kind of blatant emotional manipulation coming from a mile away? That I would ever tolerate someone using me to satisfy their own needs? Isn't that what we do to _other_ people?"

Quinn stared at him for a long moment. "Sustained. I'm out."

He nodded and turned to Mercedes. "I appreciate that you want to protect me, but I'm quite upset that you believe me so naïve and lovesick that I would completely disregard my own instinct for self-preservation." He held up a hand to stall her protest. "The simple fact of the matter, Mercedes, is that you don't know Finn except what has been told to you by me and other people, and I think that you're bothered by the fact that Finn might possibly like me back."

She clenched her teeth. Caught! Goddamn it!

"_Does_ he like you back?" Brittany asked.

He tilted his head. "Finn likes me. The problem is that he's never had a friend who is gay and _that_, more than anything else, confuses his feelings for me. He knows I like him in a romantic sense. Whether he's _accepted_ that is another matter, but he's aware of my feelings. He doesn't know how to respond to them."

He sighed. "You have to realize that despite his popularity, Finn's only real friends were Quinn and Puck. They both betrayed him on a level he never conceived possible. He doesn't give much thought beyond life in high school. As far as he was concerned, he would have dated Quinn forever and been bros with Puck until they both died. He has no clue how to operate without them at his side, and he's aware that everyone in school is watching him and cuing their behavior according to how he acts."

Quinn winced.

Santana drew in a breath. "I'll concede your point, and while I don't feel sorry for him, I agree that his situation right now sucks hardcore. But what I want to know, and I think what everyone else here wants to know, is why is it your job to fix him?"

Mercedes nodded, for once keeping her mouth shut.

Kurt gave a small smile and shook his head. "I'm not trying to fix him. I'm just listening while he attempts to fix himself. He has no one else to talk to, Santana. There's Rachel, of course, but Finn understands that her advice is biased, that she has an agenda. I know that he sometimes goes to Mr. Schue, but Schue turns everything back around to schoolwork and Glee. Finn doesn't want to burden his mother any further than he feels he already has."

"But why you?" Santana demanded.

"Because I don't judge him," Kurt replied. "I tell him that it's okay to feel whatever he feels, be it anger or sadness or hurt. I don't tell him that any of his feelings are wrong. I don't tell him that he should be the bigger man and make up with Puck. I don't tell him that he should forgive Quinn or dump Rachel. I don't tell him what to do or what to say or what to feel." He shrugged. "I just listen to him."

The others, regardless of their feelings for Finn, could see the value in such a friendship.

"Finn is aware that I like," he paused, "that I love him, even if only on a subconscious level. I think, in the beginning, he expected me not only to agree with his rants against Puck and Quinn, but to elaborate upon them. I didn't. It would accomplish nothing and only alienate him further. When he talks to me about Rachel, I say nothing negative against her, and there are times that I believe he is deliberately provoking me with details of their relationship to test my responses. I refuse to play those games."

"Why not?" Mercedes asked. "He might turn to you."

Kurt pursed his lips. "I don't want him that way. He isn't a prize to be won, Mercedes. That's how Rachel thinks of him and, unfortunately, that's how he thinks of himself. I refuse to abet that train of thought." He picked restlessly at his bed's comforter. "And, selfishly, I don't want to be his last resort. I think too much of myself to let that happen. If, one day, he decides that it's me he wants, I'll be all over that like white on rice…"

Santana blinked. "White on rice?"

"…but I want it to be because he wants _me_, not because he doesn't trust women or believes he can't make it work with Rachel. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder constantly, waiting for what he perceives as the right girl to come along and solve all his problems." He pouted and crossed his arms defensively across his chest. "And I don't want to be the kind of person who would take advantage of someone so troubled. That would make me no better than Rachel."

"You really don't like her, do you?" Brittany quietly asked.

He sighed. "You have to understand that my treatment of Rachel is directly proportional to how she treats me. She has always been horribly rude to and dismissive of me, and I know that's mostly because she feels threatened by me. But that's also not my problem. I may not have a lot of friends, but the ones I do have I trust completely and know they will come to my defense. Rachel doesn't have that, largely because her dueling inferiority and superiority complexes compel her to treat everyone as though they're beneath her. She pushes them away so she can't be pushed first. She hides behind her talent and believes everyone is jealous of her."

He paused. "I don't know if she and I could have ever been friends. As painful as it is to acknowledge, we share several character traits for better or worse. I know how she thinks and I even understand her actions to an extent, but I refuse to excuse her behavior simply because she's lonely and crippled by self-doubt. However, if she had ever once treated me as anything other than offal at the bottom of her shoe, I'd simply ignore her."

He shrugged once more. "I can't do that now; my pride won't let me. So I have no problem telling her why I think she's ridiculous, but I curb that attitude around Finn. He doesn't know whether or not he can trust her or her motivations, and I think he _wants_ me to make that decision for him. If I do that, I'll lose him completely. So I say nothing. I encourage him to discuss his feelings with her and then leave it to him to decide if he wants to pursue something."

Santana smirked. "Of course, if he does, that puts all the blame on him if it doesn't work out. Also, Rachel could never accuse you of badmouthing her behind her back or manipulating Finn into dumping her. And if she tried, Finn would see through her claims and defend you because you would be the only person _not_ trying to manipulate him."

His eyes sparkled. "That _is_ a perk."

"Damn," Quinn breathed, staring at Kurt, "you're good."

He nodded. "I know."

Mercedes had to admit, if only to herself, that Kurt was handling Finn rather masterfully and certainly far better than anyone else ever had, all while not really handling him at all. By giving Finn choices and not judging those choices, Kurt was giving Finn more personal freedom than anyone ever had. Finn was so afraid of making a mistake that he almost never took a decisive action, but Kurt was making it clear that mistakes were normal and allowed and could be corrected.

"And if Finn decides he does want to be with you?" she asked Kurt.

"Kurt will dump him," Quinn said decisively.

Kurt angrily fisted his hands as his face turned red with embarrassment.

"Why would you say that?" Santana calmly asked her.

Mercedes was too dumbstruck to say anything.

Quinn stared at Kurt, who was now blazing with fury. "How about a round of Through My Eyes?"

He startled, blinked, and stared back at her. "We haven't played that that in years."

She shrugged. "Fair is fair. I just called you out. It's only right you get to do the same."

His face shut down as he pondered her offer.

"What the hell is Through My Eyes?" Mercedes demanded.

Quinn's gaze never left Kurt as she answered. "It's a game Kurt and I came up with several years ago. Whenever we had a difficult decision to make, or there was something we didn't want to face, we played Through My Eyes. We each become the other person and then we are interrogated until we get to the root of the problem. It's like discount therapy."

"Clear as mud," Santana said.

Quinn sighed. "For this round, I'll be Kurt and he will become me. We will then ask each other questions to which we don't really want to know the answers. It's difficult to explain, so just follow as best you can." She turned to face Kurt. "Are you ready, Quinn?"

Kurt curled a lip, hearing the silent dare in her question. If she wanted to do this, fine, but he would show her no mercy. He knew he could expect none from her. "I'm ready, Kurt."

She nodded magnanimously. "You may go first."

He drew in a sharp breath. "Kurt, what would you do if Finn decided he wanted to be with you and only you?"

Quinn swallowed heavily. "I would be ecstatic. I love him. I wish for nothing more than for him to love me in return. But even if he came to me on bended knee, vowing his love for all time, I wouldn't believe him."

The other girls discreetly moved away. They didn't quite understand what was happening, but they knew shit was about to get real in a whole new way, and they didn't want to be caught in the crossfire.

"Why is that?" he asked coolly.

"Because that's not my life," she easily replied. "I never get the things I truly want, because I don't feel as though I don't deserve them. I could never believe that Finn could love just me. He doesn't even really know who I am. I want him to like me so much that I've hidden away parts of myself I'm scared to show him, afraid of rejection. How could he love me when he doesn't even know me? How could I trust his love? Finn's not gay, and I doubt he's even bisexual. If he thinks he loves me, it's probably because he's confused or he sees me as a band-aid for his life."

Kurt's eyes fell and he shrugged off the comforting hand of Mercedes.

"Maybe I'm his one exception," Quinn continued, her voice rather dreamy. "Maybe everyone has one. I'd like to hope that if that's true, his exception is me. But how do we build a future on that when I'd be constantly worrying that he'd leave me? That I'm just a temporary pit-stop on his way to what he really wants? And as much as I love him, as much as I want him, I also love myself too much to let that happen."

"Valid reasoning," he grumbled. "Anything else, Kurt?"

"Yes," Quinn said. "I'm at the point in my life where I want someone to share it with, even for a small amount of time. I'm so tired of being lonely, of being ostracized and ridiculed for who I am, for being something which is no way wrong, but which society insists is a perversion. I'm so tired of fighting: of fighting myself, my friends, my enemies, my school. I'm tired of fighting to prove that I'm just like everyone else except for this one thing. I'm so tired of being refused what other people view as their God-given right. I'm so tired of being marginalized for something so ridiculous, for having the courage to be who I am and not apologizing for it. I'm tired of being the scapegoat for the teenagers of Lima who are too chickenshit to own who they are and live their lives."

He chuckled ruefully.

Quinn drew in a sharp breath. What was next would be the hardest part.

"But the real reason I would dump Finn if he wanted to be with me is that I'm terrified of sex, and I know Finn would want sex. All I have to do is ask Quinn about how often he begged for it, demanded it, and tried to cajole her into providing it. I can barely tolerate my closest friends touching me, and only for small amounts of time. How could I be ready for sex with Finn?"

She forced herself to continue and ignore the first few tears falling from his eyes.

"I've built up my first time so much in my mind, fueling it with all of my longing and desire. I'm pretty sure nothing will ever compare to that. Oh, I've done all the research. I know where things go, how parts interlock. I know how to be safe. But I don't know how to keep my heart safe. I know I'm not ready for sex, but I know Finn will want it. And despite my inner strength, my beliefs, and my values, I'm afraid I'll give in to him rather than lose him, even though I know that's wrong and that I should never compromise myself for another. I've spent my whole life settling for what's available rather than what I truly want, so what's one more instance?"

"Stop," he hissed, his eyes red and face blotchy. "You've gotten your points across, _Kurt_."

She regarded him placidly. "I don't think I have. There's one more thing that I've hidden from myself, a truth I recognize but want to deny. I've fallen in love with a boy who used to torture me just because he could. I've spent so much time making excuses for his behavior, insisting that he never really wanted to join in, but that doesn't change the fact that he _was_ a willing participant. It doesn't matter that during the past year he held my jacket and bookbag and watched, saying nothing, as his friends laughed while they threw me in the dumpster. He's _still_ the boy who helped nail my lawn furniture to my roof. He's _still_ the boy who threw pee balloons at me. He's _still_ the boy who called me names for the past four years, who helped throw me in the dumpster all during my freshman year. Because, as much as I don't want to admit it, that boy _is_ part of Finn Hudson."

Her eyes flared with indignation. "The fact that earlier this year he chided Puck for body checking me into my locker doesn't negate all the horrible things he's said and done to me, things for which he's never really apologized. And a part of me is so _disgusted_ with myself for being willing to overlook these things and not stand up for myself. I'm so desperate for a nice word or a kind look that I'm building up his character far more than that which might actually exist. I know I'll be disappointed, because he could _never_ live up to that ideal, but it's easier to love someone who might never love me back than to find a boy who could give me everything I've wanted since I was five and had my best friend help plan my gorgeous wedding. I expect to be hurt, and it's so much easier to be with someone whom I know will hurt me and how they will do so, someone who is so beneath me that they might as well live in China, than to take the chance on an unknown.

"Not to say that Finn doesn't have his good points, but he is certainly not the knight in shining armor I've convinced myself he is. And when he proves that he _isn't_ that person, I will remember all of the times he has hurt me and I'll use those memories to comfort me, to tell myself that this was expected and that I really don't have to feel the pain as deeply as I do. And then I'll cocoon myself in this failure and use it to push away any other boy who might want to get close to me. My fear of being alone will become a self-fulfilling prophecy and I'll have no one else to blame other than myself. But that's okay. I'm used to blaming myself rather than other people. It's easier to hold myself to a high standard and fail than to hold other people accountable for their own behavior, to demand they act with simple human decency.

Mercedes' tears were cascading down her face, and she choked on a sob when she looked at Kurt and realized that everything Quinn was saying was true.

"But what really breaks my heart," Quinn-as-Kurt continued, her voice catching, "is that I would have known these things, would have acknowledged them, might even have been spared them, had the girl who was supposed to be my best friend stood by me like she had sworn she would, the girl who broke promises and my faith in her, and in others, because she was too busy being a stupid, superficial little bitch. And now, even after I've welcomed her back into my home, into my _life_, I expect her to betray me as she did before. Because that's the lesson she unwittingly taught me: betrayal is inevitable, so it's easier to hide those parts of myself that others might find objectionable; it's easier to expect the worst and prepare for it than believe I'm a good person who deserves to be loved."

Quinn wiped her face and tilted her head, staring at Kurt, now doubled over and sobbing into his lap. "And now I'm done. It's your turn, Quinn."

Mercedes meant to leap at Kurt, to hold him in his arms and deny everything Quinn had just said, despite its veracity.

Santana held her in place. "No. He needs to feel this. You have no idea what she's just done for him."

But Mercedes _did_ know. She understood that Quinn had just singlehandedly blasted her way through Kurt's deepest defenses. It had been painful to witness. If _she_ was affected this badly, she could only imagine the agony which Kurt was now confronting.

However, she also knew that Santana was right. Kurt needed to feel this pain, to feel the hurt, and she remembered earlier when Quinn told her that she had a plan for Kurt and his feelings for Finn. She hadn't expected such brutality, but Kurt's denial demanded nothing less. She was inordinately grateful to Quinn, for she knew that she herself would never have had the courage to do what the other girl had just accomplished.

Kurt cried it out for a few more minutes before the feeling of absolution coursed through him. He knew Quinn was hurting from what she had said, and while he wanted to forgive her, he wasn't yet able. Not when her words and the truth behind them were still ringing loudly in his ears.

She had guts, but then she always had.

He had missed this, he realized. He had missed the opportunity to be laid bare before the person who knew you best. He would have to process her words, and this experience, for a long while, forcing himself to divorce the harshness of her claims from her very real worry and concern for him. He was sure she expected him to lay into her, but that defeated the purpose of the exercise.

Now he had to pull himself together and return the favor.

He exhaled slowly and raised his head. "I'm ready."

She swallowed heavily and nodded. "All right, then. Do you want your baby, Quinn?"

He was silent for several long moments, considering the question and the meaning behind it.

"I notice," he slowly began, "that you did not ask me if I loved my baby. Indeed, the answer to that should be quite obvious: of course I do. Your question is much more subtle, more demanding, and frankly, more hurtful. Yes, I love my baby. Do I want my baby? No."

Quinn became ensnared in his gaze and she forced herself not to respond, not to defend herself against his presumption and the effect his words would have on those present. She only stopped herself because he was right and she wanted him to explain his reasoning. She knew he would say nothing he didn't believe, nothing that probably wasn't true, giving voice to thoughts and feelings she had been hiding from herself for months, if not years.

He wouldn't spare her feelings; indeed, that was the whole point of the game. She _needed_ to hear these things, and she could only be grateful that the one imparting them to her was her best friend.

"I never thought this would happen to me," he continued, lacing his fingers together. "I've known how babies were made since I was nine years old. I knew the consequences of my actions, but for once I didn't care. I was too _tired_ to care, which is why I was drinking that night. I've been tired for so many years that I've forgotten what it feels like to be anything else. I'm tired of the expectations: those of my parents, my peers, my boyfriend, and my religion. I've lived so long according to the rules and desires of others, that I never learned to have expectations for myself."

Quinn bit her lip so forcefully, she drew blood.

"That's not to say that I don't love my family and friends," Kurt-as-Quinn continued. "I do, so much that it hurts, but I've come to understand that their love is conditional, dependent on how I behave and how proud I make them."

His searing honesty was like a knife in her gut. She fought for breath as her respiration accelerated, knowing he was only getting started.

"I'm intelligent, beautiful, and rich," he said. "People loved me for these things, and I defined who I was according to what those things gave me. I've learned to depend on these things to the point where I no longer know who I am outside of them, but they really haven't helped me much. I don't know who I am or what I want. All I know is what people want _from_ me, and how badly I have failed."

A guttural sound, like that of a dying animal, was torn from her throat.

"My father believes that women should be seen and not heard. He hasn't heard anything I've told him since I learned to talk. For him, actions speak louder than words, and as long as my actions were those which he commanded, I had his approval, which, I suppose, is the only brand of affection he's capable of offering."

He was silent for a long moment. "I love my mother dearly, but she's weak. She defers to my father in all decisions, even though she is so much smarter and stronger than he could ever hope to be. I've watched as he's controlled and demeaned her to the point where she's no longer a person, but merely an extension of himself. She loves me, I know she does, but she follows his lead. I knew when I told them about my baby that I would be thrown out of my own home, and I knew that my mother, despite how much she loves me, would raise neither hand nor word against my father's edict.

"I knew Sylvester never cared about me, other than what I could do for her. I'm surprised she actually knows my name. As for my friends, well, I realized a while ago that they were friends in name only. I sacrificed the girl I was, the woman I was becoming, a person that I liked, all on the altar of popularity, but the moment I deviated from the proscribed path, I was thrown to the wolves like carrion. I always knew that my subjects were waiting in the wings to stab me in the back, but lacked the courage to do so. But once I made the fatal mistake of being _human_, they couldn't wait to throw their knives at me."

Brittany couldn't stand it anymore and drew Quinn flush against her, running her fingers through the other girl's hair. She only understood half of what Kurt was saying, but he used so many words, even half was enough. She had always liked Quinn, but she had never really understood what it was to _be_ Quinn. No one did. She herself had always been protected by Santana, who lived her life according to her own rules and really didn't give a shit whether they were approved by anyone or not. She could only dimly understand the tightrope Quinn had to walk, between the person she was and the person others wanted her to be. Quinn had no goals or dreams for herself, only those which were dictated by other people. It was a miracle she hadn't cracked long ago.

"I loved Finn," Kurt continued, "I did, but I'm not sure I was ever in love with him. He was available, and he was sweet, and I could manipulate him. That's what I've watched my parents do to each other for years. Finn was _safe_. I never wanted to hurt him. Despite my past actions and how others perceive me, I've never wanted to hurt anyone. I know I didn't treat Finn well and, for that, I have no one to blame but myself, but I still love him. I want what's best for him, and I can see how Rachel is already laying claim to my mantle, manipulating him without him knowing it. It hurts to see it. It hurts to know that I'm the one who made it happen. It hurts to know that even if I tried to interfere, to save him from himself, my presence wouldn't be welcome and that I would only drive him further into her arms."

"I hate her," Quinn hissed, angrily swiping at tears. "I hate her so much. Everything she accused me of doing to Finn, she's doing to him now, but she's convinced herself it's okay because she's _saving_ him."

Kurt cleared his throat, though he silently agreed with her assessment. "I don't love Puck. In fact, I'm not even sure I like him. I don't even have a reason for why I chose him, other than that he was there and he knows some of the parts of me I hide from the others. He took advantage of the situation, but I took advantage of him, and for that, I'm truly sorry. Now I find myself in the last situation I ever thought possible. I want to blame him. It would be so easy to blame him: for being there, for agreeing to it, for not wearing a condom. But I know I share equal responsibility.

"That said, I can't stand him. I look at him and see everything that's wrong with my life, and while I know it isn't entirely his fault, part of it is. It sickens me to know that he was so willing to throw away his friendship with Finn, to hurt his best friend in such a manner. I despise that he now wants to manufacture a relationship with me simply because I'm carrying his child, as if he's in some way entitled to me. I refuse to allow myself to belong to another when I've yet had the opportunity to belong to myself."

Quinn nodded frantically.

Kurt-as-Quinn nodded in kind. "Why don't people understand that? Why am _I_ taking all the blame? Because he's supposedly a stud, that doesn't mean he isn't just as responsible, that his reputation shouldn't suffer just as much as mine has. When everyone thought Finn was the father, he was shunned. But now that they know it's Puck, they act as if it were expected of him, as if it proves that he can have whoever he wants whenever he wants them."

That remark was, for Mercedes, revelatory. She had never thought about Quinn's situation in those terms, but now she could see it clearly.

"I know he wants the baby," Kurt-as-Quinn added, "but he doesn't want it for the right reasons. He wants it to justify the change in himself that he knows is necessary if he wants to be an adult. He wants it to prove to others than he's capable of being a man, but being a man is ultimately a choice, not a result of circumstances. I won't allow him to use me _or_ our child to become a better person. He has to want that change, not demand it.

Santana nodded. That was a big part of her current problem with Puck. He said he was a man, an adult, but he acted like a spoiled child. Of course, so did she, but she made no claims that she was anything but."

Kurt sighed. "I love my child, but I know I'm not ready to raise it, not the way she deserves. I want my child to have the best life possible, because, as her mother, that's the very least I owe her, and I know the best life is not with me. I want better for her than I've had, than what Puck's had. How can we be good parents when we're still children? How can I give her what she deserves when I can't even take of myself? Isn't it my _job_, as her mother, to ensure her happiness above my own? A part of me, a selfish part, wants to keep her, but I know that she will only suffer for it."

Quinn nodded miserably as her eyes shut again a new onslaught of tears.

"It's not _fair_ that I have to make these decisions," Kurt-as-Quinn whispered. "It's not fair that I'm _alone_ while I have to make them, that I have to fight everyone and defend myself at every turn. They look at me and they don't see me. They look at my stomach, but they don't see a baby. They go home at the end of school and do their homework or drink or play games or look at porn, and I'm left with a child who is totally dependent on me, while I have no one on whom I can depend. Yes, this is a consequence of my own actions and I will bear the brunt of the responsibility, but is it fair that I have to do so on my own?"

He took her hands in his own. "No, it's not," he said, calling a halt to the game, "but you're not alone anymore."

She threw herself at him and wept. "Neither are you."

* * *

By unspoken declaration, it was decided that all of them would be sleeping in Kurt's bedroom. Quinn and Mercedes would share the bed with Kurt, while Brittany and Santana would take the couch, which they were presently unfolding and outfitting for the occasion.

"That was quite an encounter session," Santana said quietly, observing the still-sobbing Kurt and Quinn atop his bed, holding on to each other for dear life. "I wouldn't have had the guts to go through something like that." She winced at the admission, but could never deny its truth.

Mercedes nodded. "That was some seriously hardcore shit. I know some of what Kurt goes through, but nothing like that, and while I had a few suspicions about Quinn, I was totally caught off guard."

"Does it bother you?" Brittany whispered. "That they're so close, I mean?"

Mercedes frowned and thought about the question. "Not as much as I thought it would. I mean, it kind of makes sense, right? They grew up together. They know everything about each other; how their minds work, how they react to things. They learned all of that before they formed their individual defenses. She got through to him when I couldn't. I may arguably be the person closest to him, but she knows him better, all the parts he hid away before we even met. I'm glad she was able to do that for him, that they could do that for each other, and I think it will help.

"I know we're supposed to grow and change as we get older," she continued, "but sometimes I wonder if that's true. I think we struggle to become the people we were as kids, when we were freer and without all the hang-ups that were foisted upon us."

Brittany nodded thoughtfully before grabbing Santana's hand. "Thanks."

Santana raised a brow. "For what, babe?"

Brittany smiled. "For being there. For never giving me a reason to doubt that you would be." She shrugged. "I guess just for putting up with me."

Santana kissed her cheek. "That's always been a privilege, never a burden. Oh, and ditto."

"I don't want to lose this," Mercedes said softly. "I just found it. I don't want to lose it."

"We won't," Brittany said confidently. "We just have to keep working at it to make sure we don't lose each other."

"Tink was right before," Santana hissed. "The others at school, Sylvester, Schue, maybe even our parents, will try to separate us. They'll try to get us to turn on each other. We can't let them."

"How do we stop them?" Mercedes fretted.

"We can't, at least not entirely," Santana replied, shrugging. "We can't stop the rumors or the backbiting. All we can do is control our reactions to it. So we take a vow, right here and now, that we don't give them what they want. We won't feed the rumors. We'll collect them and discuss them with each other, and then deal with them accordingly." She frowned. "In fact, I think it would be best if we didn't discuss this alliance with other people. Let them speculate. Let them wonder. Let them fear us."

Brittany grinned. "Sounds like fun!"

Santana nodded and turned to Mercedes. "We're going to have to divide our efforts. I really had no idea all that Q was going through, and I don't think I can help her with that. But you can. The question is whether or not you will." She arched a brow. "Can you be her friend? A real one, not like the other Cheerios."

Mercedes nodded slowly. "I can do that. And you get Kurt?"

Santana heard the trace of bitterness in her voice and ignored it; seriously, she had no time. "There are things you don't know about him, things he told me tonight." She held up a hand to forestall the interruption. "He didn't tell you not because he didn't want to, nor because he feared your reaction, but because you're too close to the situation. He needs someone who cares but will listen to his worries objectively. You can't do that. He needs your support right now, Mercedes, not your coddling. The more you try to keep him to yourself, the more he'll pull away from you. And if that happens, that's on you, not me or Quinn."

Mercedes wanted to bellow in her face that she knew nothing about Kurt, that she would only hurt him, and a host of any number of other protestations, but she knew they would sound feeble at best. She didn't want to become one of those people who monopolized someone to the extent that all others were shut out of their life. She didn't want to be that controlling, especially with Kurt, who could never be controlled and would merely come to resent her interference.

She sighed. "Can you at least give me a clue?"

Santana internally debated for a moment. Finally, she shrugged. "The clothes are just a cover. They're a shield he hides behind. The problem is that they're becoming more like armor than a shield, and he's starting to believe the façade he puts forward. That's not good. He's too strong for that, and eventually the façade will fall. If that happens after he's convinced himself it's all he has, all he is, he'll have nothing left. He's beginning to believe more in an image than in himself."

Mercedes nodded slowly. She could see that, now that it was pointed out to her. She also agreed with the assessment; she was too close to the situation, and Kurt needed help she simply couldn't provide, lest she hinder him more than she already had. She didn't like surprises, but found herself being consistently surprised by Santana Lopez. She was actually beginning to become fond of the experience. Maybe Kurt was right and Santana _was_ awesome. Or maybe he was wrong and she would kill them all and feast upon their souls.

Either way, she needed Kurt to give her a manicure.


	10. Pie Jesu Santana Interlude

Santana watched dispassionately as Kurt and Quinn's sobs petered down to sniffles before finally allowing Mercedes to rush over and coo over them. She recognized they were now ready for comfort, and while she was not really one to provide that service, she knew Mercedes loved nothing more.

She observed them, semi-amused, as Quinn immediately responded to Mercedes' crooning while Kurt quickly fought to get himself under control. Within a few minutes, he was up and stomping towards the bathroom to wash his face and apply the appropriate unguents to ensure his skin would remain undamaged. Ten minutes later he emerged triumphant and then proceeded to drag Quinn out of Mercedes' smothering embrace and perform the same ritual on the blond.

They returned a dozen minutes later, whispering under their breaths, most of their words lost to their audience, though Santana was fairly certain they were debating the merits of Puck's cock.

She smirked. This reaffirmed her belief that, fantasies aside, Kurt's desire for Puck was more than just lip service. She swallowed a snort.

The problem was what to do about it. She was almost positive that Puck would be more than willing, just for the opportunity to crow that he had gone where no one ever had and where no woman ever would. Not that he would blab it to the school, of course; he had a pathetic reputation to maintain. But he would definitely mark his territory – that is, Kurt – when it came to Glee.

She frowned. How had she not foreseen the complications that could arise should she engineer a liaison between them? She had been so sidelined by the idea of hot gay sex between her now-favorite boy and the beautiful smarmy Jew who still charmed her, that she had never paid due consideration to the very real probability that _Puck could take Kurt away from her!_

Well, fuck that.

And, yeah, she supposed she should also take into account how Quinn would feel about a Puckurt hookup.

She blinked. Puckurt? What the actual fuck?

She shook her head to clear it.

She was still of the opinion that Puck, despite his epic douchebaggery, would still be better for Kurt than Finn. As far as she was concerned, Finn and Rachel deserved each other and she hoped they would marry, practice religiously safe sex, and remove themselves from further gene pool pollution.

But Puck _was_ an asshole; that could never be denied. And if he was ever clued in that Kurt might _actually_ sleep with him, he would press the advantage to avenge himself against both herself _and_ Kurt. Kurt would be shattered, and of course Santana would have to murder Puck in a manner which would give Eli Roth both nightmares and ideas for future torture-porn films.

She stifled a sigh.

The simple truth was that Puck was a crap boyfriend. He had never been interested in dating, only screwing. Kurt wanted an actual relationship in which sex wasn't the focus, and she knew Puck couldn't provide that.

Hell, as much as she loved Brittany, she could barely provide that herself.

Kurt's – well, she guessed it was frigidity – didn't surprise her, but she didn't know how what to do about it. A teenage boy who didn't want sex? Although, she supposed, it wasn't so much that Kurt didn't _want_ sex but that he was scared of it. She understood that all too well. For her, sex had become yet another weapon in her arsenal, but for Kurt, it was something extraordinary and transformative and to be cherished with a special someone blah blah blah. His romanticized notions of what the act entailed were nauseating and ridiculous, and even slightly offensive.

She wished she could believe in them the way he did.

She shrugged off those maudlin thoughts, preferring to ponder getting Tink laid and what his orgasm face would look like.

_Hotness_.

Finn was cute and his body was decent. He was more emotional than most chicks she knew, and though his desire for sex was like his need for oxygen, she imagined his views on it fell more in line with those of Kurt than not. Sex would actually _matter_ to Finn. Kurt and Finn would probably hold each other and sob over how beautiful it was.

Gag.

Puck was awesome at sex and she figured he'd probably be good at hot homo loving as well, once he figured out what he was supposed to do. He got off on making sure it was good for the other person involved but, in the end, he was a selfish lover. He wasn't capable of the emotional intimacy Kurt would require, and she couldn't let Puck talk Kurt into something only for it to end badly. Kurt deserved better and, frankly, so did Puck.

She knew Puck had regrets where Quinn and the baby were concerned, but he was too driven by lust to understand the consequences of his actions. Besides, if Kurt refused to put out for too long, Puck would become bored and drop him, probably just about the time Kurt would begin to feel something.

She then realized that she had failed to take into consideration something pretty major: was Kurt a top or a bottom?

What if he was versatile? What if he didn't know what position he favored?

She had heard the talk around the school, and most people believed that because Kurt was slender and looked like a China doll that he was probably begging for an ass plundering, but what if that wasn't the case? What if he wanted to be the top?

Even if Finn or Puck developed feelings for Kurt which led to bedroom gymnastics, she couldn't imagine, under _any_ circumstances, either boy being willing to be the catcher. They wouldn't consider it manly.

She rolled her eyes. The politics of gender and sexuality bored her unless she was directly affected. Bottom line was that neither Finn nor Puck would ever take it in the ass. And, really, that was lame. Men had prostates for a reason, and that reason was so that they could be pounded by a big, hard cock.

Boy Anal was axiomatic.

And oral? Forget it. Finn would never be comfortable blowing another guy, and while Puck would probably do it just to say that he excelled at the art, he would never swallow or allow Kurt to come on his face. If he wasn't willing to do those things, what the hell would be the point? Most likely both boys would demand that Kurt bottom exclusively and perform fellatio whenever it was desired, all while being perfectly satisfied to do neither for him.

Unacceptable.

Santana wasn't big on love and emotion, but she knew sex. And for sex to be _good_, there had to be a level of respect and a measure of equality between the two - or three, or nine - involved.

While Finn might have respect for Kurt – she wasn't sure – she was fairly certain that Puck didn't. And as for equality, she was almost positive that both boys would treat Kurt as a girl, recognizing that he had a dick, but content to ignore it. That was some _not right _shit.

Kurt would never limit himself, and he sure as hell wouldn't stand for someone else to limit him. She totally respected that.

So Finn and Puck were out – she snickered – for sexy times.

That didn't mean, however, that she couldn't engineer a situation where each fell for Kurt – purely on her boy's own merits, of course – and then be devastated when they realized they couldn't have him.

In fact, that was actually Pretty Fucking Awesome.

The question was not whether she should move forward with this scheme, but the extent to which she should involve Kurt.

He might consent to play _Cruel Intentions_ with Puck, but had too much integrity to involve Finn. So that meant she could play the game with both Finn and Puck, leaving Kurt unaware, or include Kurt with the Puckerman Plot, but lose his participation in playing with Finn.

Which could lead to Kurt not playing at all.

She bit her lip and suppressed a sigh.

What to do, what to do?

She gnawed on said lip for a moment and then made an executive decision.

She would make both Finn _and_ Puck fall in love with Kurt, only for him to deny them, and all the while she would scope out other suitable paramours for him. Not only would she gain some vengeance for Quinn, but there was the bonus of delivering a stunning blow to Rachel.

Such a victory could not possibly be ignored.

She'd have to be extra devious or Brittany would catch on to the plan. As well as she knew her girlfriend, Brittany knew her just as well. For some unfathomable reason, Brittany wasn't offended by Rachel and wouldn't want to cause the wretch any pain. Therefore, including Brittany in the plan for Finn wouldn't be possible; however, Brittany had no real use for Puck and would actually be a wonderful asset in her nefarious scheme to drive Puck wild with potential homoeroticism.

She nodded to herself and organized her plans.

First, encourage Finn to explore his feelings for Kurt. She couldn't use Brittany for that. Mercedes was already on record as not wanting Finn anywhere near Kurt. That just left Quinn.

Santana debated that option. On the one hand, Quinn would revel in the opportunity to confuse Finn while simultaneously bringing down Rachel; on the other, she would only agree were there a guarantee that Kurt would in no way be harmed. Possible, but iffy. It would require further thought.

Second was to chum the Sex Shark's waters with ideas of an irresistible Kurt.

Conceivably, that shouldn't be too difficult. In fact, if she knew Puck – and she _did_ – she was betting thoughts of Tink were already swirling about his head. He had jacked off behind Taco Bell while listening to Kurt explain in exquisite detail how he wanted to plunder the Puckzilla. She well knew that Puck was not only unable but unwilling to relinquish suck imagery. Kurt wasn't the only one who wanted to be wanted; Puck longed for that, too. It was somewhat sad that Puck couldn't even contemplate that someone might want him for something other than sex.

The bottom line was that Puck would now believe Kurt had some measure of control over him and would be desperate to level the playing field. So, whether he wanted to or not, that meant Puck would now be preoccupied with the idea of Kurt and sex.

Excellent.

With Quinn out of his house, Santana removing herself from any weekend plans Puck may have been considering, and the Cheerios patently avoiding him per Sylvester's edict, he would be forced to do nothing but replay the Taco Bell excursion from every angle.

She knew that hearing Kurt call him beautiful would hit Puck hard. Puck knew he was attractive, but his idea of his own appeal was tied up with his ludicrous idea of machismo. The fact that someone like Kurt, who prized beauty in all its forms, would not only think but freely state that Puck himself was _beautiful_ would be insanely alluring. He would want to live up to that proclamation.

Also, she couldn't discount the fact that Kurt had bested Puck in a fight. Granted, he had taken Puck by surprise, but had also subdued him with alarming ease. Further, it couldn't be ignored that Puck had brought himself off to Kurt's sexy talk after Kurt had just physically dominated him.

Well, wasn't _that_ interesting?

She shook her head, a wry smile on her face.

Part of her had to consider that Kurt had known all along that Puck was eavesdropping and had thus manipulated him accordingly. She couldn't be sure, of course, and Kurt would never admit to anything. Also, if she broached the subject and Kurt _hadn't_ known, he would be horribly embarrassed and appalled by his own behavior.

At least, that's what he would _want_ her to think.

Regardless, she would have to keep her mouth shut so as not to cause a nuclear holocaust. In any case, Kurt would win, and she therefore had to conclude that, on some level, he had planned this.

Damn. He was _really_ good.

She decided to table her internal debate and join the fun and frolic in which the others were now engaged. Besides, there was something to be said for acting one's age. After all, even Machiavelli must have taken a few days off.

She gave Kurt the side-eye and the evil little angel smirked right back at her.

Maybe she wasn't quite as Machiavellian as she had believed.

This alliance was going to be _amazing_.


	11. The Windmills of Your Mind

**Author's Note**: Once again, _not abandoned!_ I've never stopped thinking of this story, but admittedly encountered a huge case of writer's block. I had written myself somewhat into a corner, as well. When I began this story, I actually liked Mercedes. I no longer do, and thus have been struggling with how to write her here as though I do. Further, the arc I had originally planned for this story will have to be scrapped, as I have no interest in victim!Kurt, which was going to be heavily featured.

This chapter is incredibly short. I won't apologize for it, as it's difficult for me to get back into the swing of writing it. Also, Brittany is not as spacey here, because no one can like that all the time and still function. Hopefully, there will be more soon. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed and stuck with me on this.

* * *

Kurt kept his promise and outfitted Brittany with one of his best tiaras, creating a small runway for her to prance down. Where the red carpet had come from, Santana had no idea, nor did she wish to know what else might be lurking in Kurt's closet. She had the distinct impression that space was like a black hole or a really frightening Room of Requirement.

Okay, she did _not_ just make a Harry Potter reference. Fuck. She stomped down her inner geek.

Kurt had declared the Miss America song to be incredibly _gauche_ and a host of other words which left even Santana and Quinn in a stupor, and proceeded to belt out Christina Aguilera's _Beautiful _in its stead. And belt he did. Mercedes was gaping at the power he was able to pour into his voice, though it was obvious halfway through that he was beginning to feel the strain. Still, it was apparent that despite his belief that his voice wasn't that strong, it was far more so than he realized.

This bothered Santana. She was also bothered by the fact that she didn't understand why she was so bothered. Frowning deeply, she pondered this and came to the conclusion that she didn't like how utterly clueless Tink was about his own abilities. It wasn't that he downplayed them in an attempt for flattery or that he didn't recognize that he was actually much better than he realized; rather, it was that it didn't even occur to him that he was anything other than average.

And now Santana was annoyed. She imagined a dozen different frustrating scenarios which all involved her desperately trying to convince Kurt of his own awesomeness and him stubbornly rejecting her pleas.

Who the hell needed that?

She shook her head. No way was she investing herself that way. One, she didn't have that kind of time; and two, nothing she said would make a difference unless Kurt himself realized that he was in fact to superior to almost everyone.

So that's what she would tackle first: throwing off the pseudo-superiority complex he had developed to disguise his inferiority complex - Christ, Berry much? - and force him to accept that he was hot shit and anyone who said differently was just cold diarrhea. Really, she didn't understand what the problem was, especially since it was _true_.

She forced herself to tune back in to Tink's shenanigans, as he was now dirty dancing with Brittany down the red carpet. Well, it was more like Brittany was grinding effusively against Kurt's crotch while he stood there in a befuddled stupor, blinking like a deer in headlights. A really cute deer. She promptly decided his second nickname would be Bambi. She'd trademark it later.

There was just so much to unpack! Kurt and Quinn's past relationship; his eating disorder; his fledgling _whatever_ with Finn; the strange fascination between Quinn and Mercedes; Brittany's bizarre clarity; as well as how much she herself wanted to see Kurt and Puck twist each other into sexy human pretzels.

A bitch's work was never done. And she still had to get a bead on those _Made of Awesome_ t-shirts for Uncle Burt.

Right. Time to prioritize.

She stomped over, lightly pushed Brittany aside, and poked Kurt in his ribs, biting her lip to keep from laughing when he giggled like a choirboy told a filthy joke in the middle of Mass.

"You promised me gay porn."

He blinked heavily. "You're right. I did."

"I beg your pardon?" Quinn said in a strange voice.

"Say _what_?" Mercedes demanded.

Kurt sniffed. "I'm sure you three can find something to amuse yourselves for the next half-hour. Santana and I have a prior engagement."

"Half an hour?" Quinn dumbly repeated.

"Slow and steady wins the race," Kurt purred, leaning toward her and leering, smirking when a blush spread across her cheeks.

"Don't forget I'm sharing your bed later," she snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't forget Mercedes will be between us."

Mercedes gave Quinn the side-eye and cracked her knuckles.

He grabbed a beaming Santana by the hand and sashayed over to his desk to snatch up his laptop with the other. "Santana and I have some private ho stuff to do. Catch you all on the flip."

He then dragged Santana into his bathroom and slammed the door shut behind them, locking it.

Mercedes stared after them. "What the fuck was that?"

"Kurt watches porn?" asked a flabbergasted Quinn.

Mercedes turned toward her. "Right? I mean..._what?_"

Brittany rolled her eyes. "Next you'll be telling me you didn't think he jacked off."

Their resulting stares of incomprehension revealed that, no, they had never considered that.

Brittany was incredulous. "He's sixteen and a _boy_. Not that gender has anything to do with it, but come on." She shook her head. "And people think I'm the dumb one?"

She began rolling up the red carpet to stow later in the closet.

"But it's Kurt," Mercedes said blankly.

"He's not ready for sex," Quinn insisted.

"That doesn't mean he isn't horny," Brittany casually remarked. Her eyes then glazed over. "It has to be so hot. I'm sure a lot of people think Kurty would be a screamer or something, but I don't think so. I bet he's _intense_. I bet he never even makes a sound."

Her eyes, now feverish, turned toward his bed. "I can see him lying there, his t-shirt riding up, exposing a sliver of pale, toned stomach. His slender fingers teasing the waistband of his ducky pajama bottoms, small fissures of pleasure dancing on his fingertips as he caresses the soft material, imaging the pleasure those fingers will soon unleash..."

Quinn swallowed audibly and had to sit down. She realized a moment later she had sat on Kurt's bed. She squeaked and immediately stood, crossing to the couch, on which she collapsed.

Mercedes eyed Brittany. "You write fanfiction, don't you?"

Brittany shook her head. "No, but Tina does. She actually wrote that."

Mercedes' eyes bulged. "She wrote about Kurt getting off?"

Brittany nodded.

"Do you have a copy?" Quinn demanded.

Again, Brittany shook her head, this time sadly. "No," she whispered. She glared. "Tina wouldn't give it to me, so I had to memorize what I could." Her gaze turned thoughtful. "In fact, what she wrote about how Kurt looks naked is pretty accurate." She shrugged. "I guess she's seen him, too."

"Seen him naked?" Mercedes bellowed. "When? Why?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "They _are_ friends."

Mercedes huffed. "Well, yeah, but they're not _that_ close."

Brittany and Quinn stared at her.

"_What?_" Mercedes barked.

"You do know they've been friends since fourth grade, right?" Quinn asked. "They don't advertise it, but they _are_ that close."

Mercedes gaped like a fish. "But...but...he never told me," she whispered, sitting down on the bed. "Why didn't he tell me that?"

"Do you really want to know?" Brittany asked, suddenly very serious.

That tone was the only reason Mercedes didn't explode. Of course she wanted to know! "Yes," she said evenly.

Quinn immediately decided she wanted nothing to do with this conversation. Brittany could handle it just fine on her own, and Quinn herself had had enough of being the target of Mercedes' wrath for one night. Further, she was still annoyed that Mercedes had actively tried to persuade Kurt not to forgive her, as if the girl had any right to interfere in matters which weren't her concern. Finally, this needed to be said, and Mercedes would force herself to remain calm while discussing it with Brittany. No way would she be willing to risk angering both Santana _and_ Kurt.

"You get jealous really easily," Brittany said nonchalantly, shrugging. "You get super protective of Kurt. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, but you sometimes take it too far. It's not like he's fragile or anything. He's the strongest person I know. No offense, Mercedes, but he was just fine before you got here. Yeah, he might not have been the most popular person, but he always had friends."

She sighed. "Look, I'm not trying to offend you or hurt your feelings, but you act like Kurt didn't exist as a person before you moved here from Dayton. That was a little over a year ago." She raised a brow. "Did you really think Kurt was just _born_ when you arrived?"

Mercedes opened her mouth and just as quickly closing it, finding she had no ready answer.

"A lot of people like Kurt," Brittany continued, "many more than he realizes, but they're afraid of what will happen to them if they try to be his friend." She held up a hand when Mercedes again opened her mouth. "Don't. Don't say they don't deserve to be his friend if they're so afraid. You see how Kurt is treated. You know how people who are his friends are treated. You've experienced it firsthand. You can't dismiss their fear as though it's not legitimate."

Again, Mercedes closed her mouth, mostly because she'd never before been confronted with a Brittany so coherent and articulate.

"And some of those people don't approach him because they're scared of you," Brittany added. "You're a very intimidating person, and while I'm sure you don't mean to, you isolate Kurt. You've admitted that you don't want Finn near Kurt, and it's not like they're even doing anything other than _talking. _You tried to run off Quinn tonight, and I'm betting you tried the same thing with Sanny. The fact that Kurt didn't let you should tell you that he's a better judge of character than you give him credit for being."

Mercedes turned toward Quinn, but found the other girl staring down at the floor, and that's when she realized Brittany had a point.

"Am I really that bad?" she whispered.

"Unintentionally," Quinn said quietly. "We all know you mean well, Mercedes, but Kurt is a strong person. He had a life before you, and if he hasn't told you about it, you should stop and wonder why. I can understand why he didn't tell you about me, but why didn't he tell you about Brittany or Tina? Is it because it truly didn't occur to him, or is it because he knew what your reaction would be?"

Mercedes flushed. "What else don't I know?"

Brittany and Quinn exchanged a glance.

"He and Puck used to be really good friends," Brittany said, "before Puck and Finn became best friends."

Mercedes was thunderstruck and looked to Quinn for confirmation. The other girl slowly nodded.

"I don't really know what happened there," Quinn admitted. "They were friends, but never as close as Kurt and I were, or Kurt and Tina." She frowned. "Whatever it was, it must have been really bad, and they've been enemies ever since." She blushed. "I'm sure it didn't help when I chose Puck over Kurt." She shook her head. "Stupid," she mumbled.

"There was another friend," Brittany said, "a boy, but he moved away. I don't remember his name. I wasn't friends with Kurty then, but I wanted to be. He's a really great friend."

Mercedes was shaking her head dumbly and missed how Quinn turned away when Brittany began speaking of the other friend.

Brittany, however, missed nothing.


End file.
